


Cold War

by Chifuyu



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Darth Tantrum and his Evil Space Ginger, Dismemberment, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, First Kiss, Force Choking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Last two tags not related to each other, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Consensual Kissing, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Politics, Post-Canon, Power Dynamics, Rimming, Slow Burn, Sparring, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-05-31 18:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 121,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15125351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chifuyu/pseuds/Chifuyu
Summary: Snoke is dead. Starkiller Base is no more. The First Order is in shambles. The only thing standing between Armitage Hux and his untimely demise by Kylo Ren's hands is his own usefulness.He is good at what he does and he knows it. Much more difficult is it to convince their new Supreme Leader of the same thing. But Hux has always been resourceful, thriving in the face of adversity, and so he will make himself indispensable to Kylo Ren. As a devoted servant, a trusted friend, even as an eager lover if that is what it takes to ensure his own survival.That is, until he’ll slit the insufferable man child’s throat and crown himself leader of the First Order.





	1. Unfortunate Circumstances

**Author's Note:**

> **A quick note about the tags** : The tags currently listed are the tags that apply to the first chapter! I will add tags whenever I upload a new chapter, so that you guys will know what you're in for. This fanfic will upload every Sunday!
> 
> Thank you, [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) for whipping this whole thing into shape.  
> And thank you, [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for holding my hand throughout all of this and saving me from more mental breakdowns than I could count.

##### I

The taste of humiliation is something Armitage Hux is painfully familiar with. It is heavy on his tongue, biting and sharp, gliding down his throat like tar and settling hot in his stomach where it ignites a raging fire of hatred and fury.

Having been Force-choked and flung around like a rag doll by Kylo Ren was an unpleasant but ultimately insignificant experience—the bruises would fade, the superficial cuts would heal—the true humiliation had lain in his own cawed proclamation of Kylo Ren as their Supreme Leader.

Of course, there was little else he could have done. Hux is a tactician first and foremost, and placating Ren in such a way was the most logical course of action he could have taken at the time. However, the knowledge of the rightness of his decision doesn't make the indignity of it any easier to bear.

He huffs and straightens his shoulders as he strides along the corridors of the _Huntress_ , the only battlecruiser to have survived the suicide commando of Vice Admiral Holdo relatively unscathed. It's small compared to the _Supremacy_ and, even though its size is comparable to that of the _Finalizer,_ it reminds Hux too much of the cramped if luxurious confines of the _Imperialis_ to be be comfortable.

With Kylo Ren on board it feels like sharing a cage with a feral beast.

The doors to Ren's quarters open with a soft hiss and Hux feels the phantom touch of leather-clad fingers around his throat as he steps inside.

Ever the histrionic one, Ren has dimmed the lights so that Hux has to make his way to him through semi-darkness, the heels of his boots clicking on the polished floor.

Ren is sitting on the only chair of the sparsely furnished room like a disillusioned king: legs spread wide open, his fingers digging into the upholstery of the armrest while his eyes follow Hux from underneath a curtain of tangled hair.

Hux has never been afraid of Kylo Ren. He’s wary maybe, as one is wary of a rabid animal, but never afraid.

So when he feels a chill running down his spine at the way Ren's eyes narrow at the sight of him, he refuses to call it fear. After all, he's used to Ren's childish temper tantrums, to his destructive rage and emotional outbursts. They're frustrating, yes, but ultimately predictable and therefore easy to handle.

The cold fury Ren is exhibiting now Hux is unaccustomed to and so he decides to tread carefully.

"You summoned me?" he asks, arms crossed behind his back.

If Ren notices the deliberate omission of a title then he doesn't comment on it. It's quite possible he doesn't care and it sets Hux's teeth on edge.

The title of Supreme Leader should have been his. It is Hux who holds the loyalty of the army, who has worked tirelessly and relentlessly so that the galaxy would tremble at the mere whisper of the Order’s name. What has Kylo Ren ever done that wasn't in his own narrow interest?

He’s a child playing at being king with no concept of the repercussions of his actions.

"Careful, General, that your personal vendetta against me does not interfere with your duties to the First Order."

Hux hisses, head held high as he stands in front of Ren's makeshift throne. Ren's words are familiar and Hux has to swallow the rage creeping up his throat. The sheer audacity of this man...

"My loyalty lies with the First Order, always," he says, venom lacing every word.

Ren leans back and musters Hux. His attention is uncomfortable, suffocating even, and Hux can't remember ever having been at the direct center of it before.

"But you do not extend this loyalty to its leader, to me," Ren muses.

Hux remains silent.

"You don’t deny it?"

You're no leader, Hux wants to scream at him. You're a spoilt, insolent boy, a pampered child that knows nothing of leadership.

He says no such things.

"I can assure you that I'm perfectly capable of separating my personal feelings from my duties toward the Order," he says and swallows his pride, at least for now, "Supreme Leader."

Ren keeps looking at him, part of his face hidden in shadows but the scar running from the bridge of his nose down his cheek and over his jaw remains disturbingly prominent. It makes him look less like a boy and Hux wants to pull it open with his bare hands, tear apart the puckered skin until it gives way to soft flesh. He wants to see Ren bleed. It's something to look forward to once he has seized full control over the Order.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you," Ren says, slouching in his chair.

Hux can feel his brow twitch but manages to suppress a sneer. He may not be a Force-wielder but he knows how to read the people around him. Without his helmet to protect his too open face it’s ridiculously easy to figure out what Ren is hoping to achieve with such a question.

"Permission to speak freely, Supreme Leader?"

The title sounds like an insult coming from Hux's lips.

"Granted."

This time, Hux doesn't hold back the sneer.

"You know why, Ren. The troops, they’re loyal to me. You're nothing to them but a terrifying shadow, a dangerous weapon that could cut the hand wielding it as much as our enemies. What do you know of the mechanisms in place to keep all of this running smoothly? What do you know of what it means to have such responsibility resting on your shoulders? Nothing. Without me, this would all come crumbling down around you in a matter of weeks, if not days, and you know it."

He falls silent, awaiting Ren's inevitable anger in form of an invisible hand closing around his neck.

It never comes.

Ren's eyes are dark as he stares at Hux and the corners of his mouth twitch in anger but, surprisingly enough, Ren doesn’t act on it.

"Is that what you wanted to hear?" Hux asks, voice lingering on the edge of impatience

A tremor runs through Ren's body and for a moment Hux fears that he has miscalculated and that Ren will kill him in a murderous fit of outrage after all, but nothing of the sort happens.

He slums back into his chair, all tension gone, and if Hux were to guess he'd say that Kylo Ren looks relieved.

"You want power."

It's not posed as a question so Hux doesn't bother with a reply. He waits, calculating in his head how many extra hours it would take to catch up with the work that ultimately remains undone because Ren is playing little games with him.

"And if you had it? What would you do with all that power?"

Hux doesn't hesitate.

"Destroy the last remnants of the Republic, the Resistance, and everyone who dares stand in our way. Bring order to the galaxy. With fire and fury if necessary."

"Burn it all down," Ren whispers, eyes gleaming as he stares at Hux.

"Yes," Hux agrees, excitement blooming in his chest. "Burn it all to the ground and build a new empire from the ashes."

Ren ponders this, gaze lowered and Hux can't help but be offended by the soft arch of his lashes.

"Then I suggest you start soon. There’s much to be done, Grand Marshal Hux."

Hux stands, frozen to the spot. To say he's surprised would have been an understatement, but he doesn't want to give Ren the satisfaction of seeing the emotion mirrored on his face. He schools his features into a mask of neutrality and straightens his back.

"Yes, Supreme Leader. At once."

He only realizes that he hasn't waited to be officially dismissed before all but fleeing Ren's quarters when he is already safely back inside his own.

Hux needs a drink.

 

* * *

 

There is no official announcement, no grandiose ceremony to inform the rest of the Order of Hux's sudden promotion, and not even Hux himself is vain enough to have expected Kylo Ren to make a spectacle out of it, despite the obvious benefits. A day of celebration would have done much to restore some faith and boost morale but even though Ren has given him the title he has always desired, Hux is under no illusion that the deep resentment constituting the greater part of their relationship is not as all-consuming and strong as ever. Ren won’t give Hux more than what is absolutely necessary.

Ren has other ways and means to ensure that his decision to promote Hux to Grand Marshal is known throughout the _Huntress_ —subtler ways—and Hux is surprised Ren knows the meaning of subtlety, let alone how to employ it.

It's the softest whisper making the rounds through the halls and corridors and just like that, people _know_. If asked, no one can quite remember when or where they had heard it first, but they call Hux 'Grand Marshal' with the same naturalness they used to call him 'General'. Hux suspects Kylo of having used his Force abilities, planting the thought inside the heads of their loyal subjects, a seed that bloomed and spread until there was no doubt about Hux’s new rank anymore. It seems trite to use this fabled power like that but Hux doesn't care enough to protest.

There are more pressing matters at hand.

The First Order is all but in shambles and it's on Hux to rebuild it. For now, it would be the wisest course of action to retreat, maybe even so far as to the Unknown Regions.

Naturally, Ren disagrees.

"Even you can't be so foolish as to think that, at our current strength, it would be wise to pursue them?!"

Hux seethes, eyes following Ren who paces around the room like a hungry Bonzami. The air crackles with poorly suppressed power, making the hairs on Hux's neck stand up. He can't afford to be intimidated by Ren.

Before, it has always been Snoke who stood as a protective barrier between him and Ren's more physical outbursts, but with him gone all that keeps Hux from being choked to death is how useful he can make himself out to be.

"The Resistance is held together by no more than a delusional few, clinging to the silly notion of hope. I want them gone," Ren says, his too-full mouth quivering.

Hux can understand where Ren is coming from and to an extent he even shares the sentiment. He wants the Resistance gone just as much as him and rather now than later, but they can't afford to rush things. They need time to regroup, whether Ren likes it or not.

The Order's resources are vast but they are not so vast that they could risk losing another ship and more men to the Resistance by chasing after the scavenger girl and her filthy friends.

Hux suspects that most of Ren's eagerness to destroy the Resistance stems from an urge to face the scavenger girl again. She has bested him not once but twice and Ren's inflated ego makes him poorly equipped to deal with this kind of humiliation. She's a dangerous obsession and one fostered by Snoke no less. Their former leader let it grow and fester, even encouraged it. It is one of the few of Snoke’s decisions that Hux finds impossible to justify. Snoke must have had his reasons but with him gone it’s merely grounds for yet another argument between him and Kylo Ren.

“How do you plan on doing that?" Hux asks, brows furrowed. “With barely any TIE fighters left, no heavy cruisers and no more but a handful of ground troops at our disposal?"

A chair crashes into the wall behind Hux, barely missing his head. He doesn't even blink.

"I want them dead. I want them all dead," Ren barks and Hux can feel the tell-tale tingle of a headache building behind his eyes.

"And they will be," Hux assures him. "Once we have rebuilt our fleet there’s nothing stopping us from hunting down the rebel scum like the animals they are."

More than his words, Hux feels it’s the bloodthirsty eagerness in his voice that finally placates Ren.

"A tactical retreat then. For now."

The words come slowly, as if Ren can't quite bring himself to say them. For all his previous anger, he looks tired now, exhausted even, and the rings underneath his eyes rival Hux's own.

Hux has no pity to spare. Ren has made this bed for himself, so he might as well sleep in it.

"I will send a repair droid to fix the wall," he says and stays only long enough to witness Ren staring at the indentation in the durasteel, confusion written on his face.

 

* * *

 

Hux can't help a bone-deep sigh escaping him when the doors to Ren's rooms close behind him.

It's not so much the endlessly multiplying tasks he has to juggle all at the same time that exhaust him, but the constant arguments with Ren he can't avoid. As Grand Marshal, it’s his duty to personally report everything of interest to the Supreme Leader. Snoke had been intimidating and tended to make his displeasure known in creative and cruel ways but he was at least susceptible to suggestions and logical arguments. Kylo Ren is susceptible to neither logic nor reason.

Hux grumbles as he makes his way to the medical bay, arms behind his back, an urgency to his steps that makes the few subordinates he encounters scurry out of the way.

"Status report," he barks as soon as he sets foot inside the medbay. Almost immediately, the smell of antiseptic cleaning pads invades his nose and he takes to breathing through his mouth. He has never liked the smell associated with medbays and hospitals. It smells like weakness to Hux.

One of the medical officers—Ashalis Cozcar, if he remembers correctly—hurries to meet him, datapad tucked underneath her arm.

"The patient is no longer in critical condition but we thought it best to put her into an artificial coma until the skin grafting process is completed," she's quick to explain.

"Show me," Hux demands.

"Certainly," she says and leads him to a more secluded area of the sick bay, separated from the rest by heavy curtains.

It's not a pretty sight that greets him.

Phasma, despite her tall figure, looks small lying there on the bed, attached to several medical monitors and surrounded by droids. Her blonde hair is all but gone, burned down to the roots and even her eyebrows and eyelashes are missing. Her skin is pink and angry where they have had it replaced with new, artificially grown one. The area around her left eye has taken the most damage and not even the skin graft can erase all of it. It will leave a scar, of that Hux is certain.

"Why wasn't the Captain placed in a bacta tank?" he asks. "Surely that would have yielded quicker results."

He needs Phasma, Hux can admit that much to himself. She has always been a voice of reason underneath Supreme Leader Snoke, and Hux would feel far more comfortable with her at his side should it come to blows between him and Ren again.

"Considering the extent and severity of the burns it would have been unwise to use a bacta tank. A tank can only accelerate the regeneration process so much. But once we have replaced all of the skin, we will apply bacta patches to the new tissue so that it may heal as quickly as possible. It should take no longer than one standard week," Cozcar explains matter-of-factly.

It's not what Hux would have liked to hear. A standard week is far too long to deal with an unstable Kylo Ren all by himself.

"Very well. I want all updates on the Captain's status sent directly to my personal datapad."

Cozcar nods and salutes before returning to her work, dedication burning in her dark eyes.

At least Phasma is in good hands.

She won't be pleased upon waking, Hux muses on his way to the bridge. To have been beaten by a treacherous stormtrooper must have cut her deeply, even more so because it has left her unmasked and vulnerable.

Hux has done his best to give her as much privacy as possible but there is only so much medical droids can do. It can't be avoided that a selected few see her face. Phasma will kill them once she has recovered, of that Hux is certain.

A shame. Hux thinks of Ashalis Cozcar as quite competent, and good personnel is hard to find these days.

 

* * *

 

All eyes are on him the moment he arrives on the bridge. The Order's recent failure on Crait is still fresh on his men's mind so it's only natural that they turn to him for reassurance. Something they know they cannot expect from Ren.

Many of the insecure faces Hux isn’t familiar with; they're the sorry remains of the other ships’ crews, lucky enough to have survived Admiral Holdo. It matters not.

"At ease," Hux says.

Like children caught staring, they scramble to appear busy, pointedly avoiding his eyes when their gazes threaten to meet Hux’s.

They're scared. Not of him but of what the future might hold for them. Ren hasn't so much as set foot outside his chambers since their departure from Crait, and his refusal to show himself does little to instill a sense of devotion in what are supposed to be his men.

They crave a strong hand to guide them in this most dire hour. And if Ren isn’t up to the task because he’s too caught up being his usual brooding self, then Hux will bear the burden of leadership.

There’s one face among the many that he recognises.

"Lieutenant Mitaka," he greets the young man. Mitaka steps up to him, heels clicking on the polished floor.

"Grand Marshal," he replies, inclining his head. "Any orders from our Supreme Leader?"

It's not lost on Hux how Mitaka avoids using Ren's name, as if he’s afraid that, spoken out loud, it could summon the man.

Hux is well aware of Mitaka's dislike for Kylo Ren and he can't blame him. Ren is not exactly popular among the lower ranks—many of them are intimidated by his temper and Force abilities—but Mitaka has more reason than most to hate him. Hux hasn't forgotten that it was Mitaka who had to deliver the unfortunate news to Ren that they had lost the droid on Jakku. And neither has Mitaka.

That resentment could prove useful.

"Prepare to set course to the Pressylla System. The Supreme Leader has decided that we'll be heading to Pressy’s Tumble.”

There are a million questions on the tip of Mitaka’s tongue, Hux can feel it, but Mitaka hasn't graduated at the top of his class by being nosy. He keeps his questions to himself. Clever boy.

Of course, Ren has ordered nothing of the sort but Mitaka doesn’t need to know that. Pressy’s Tumble is a reasonable choice. The First Order's presence is strong there and the artificial asteroid field is rich in resources. They will be able to regroup, refuel and establish contact to all remaining outposts of the Order and their allies.

"Yes, Grand Marshal," Mitaka says and Hux can't help but be immeasurably pleased by the title. There’s a spark of admiration in the way Mitaka says it that sends a tingle down Hux’s spine. He smells an opportunity.

"Remind me again, Lieutenant, how old are you?" he asks.

Mitaka hesitates for the fraction of a second—the question is an unusual one—but then he straightens and answers with the zeal Hux has come to associate with him.

"Twenty-three, sir."

Young then and eager to please, with a healthy dislike for Kylo Ren. Perfect.

"Impressive," Hux says and Mitaka turns a blotchy shade of red. "Quite young for a lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir," he says and even though he still holds Hux's gaze and his voice never falters, it’s obvious that he doesn't know what to make of the sudden interest of his superior.

"But if I remember correctly, sir, then you held the title of lieutenant at twenty-two already," Mitaka is quick to add, still red up to the tips of his ears.

It's not flattery so much as it’s a desperate attempt to redirect the unwanted attention.

"Be that as it may, I'm rather pleased with your performance," Hux says. "Come your next rest cycle I want you to head down to supplies and demand a wardrobe befitting your new rank."

Mitaka blinks in confusion, his embarrassment momentarily forgotten.

"Sir?"

"Congratulations, Captain Dopheld Mitaka."

He doesn't stay to savor the look of utter shock on Mitaka's face. There are still too many things to do, too many problems to solve.

They're operating a Resurgent-class Star Destroyer designed for a crew of roughly 75,000 people with only half of these numbers and Hux spends the next hours redistributing personnel and resources as he sees fit.

Of course, he could have left such tasks to the lower ranking officers and the curious gazes thrown his way wherever he goes tell him that his men think very much the same.

He'd rather oversee all operations personally until something akin to normalcy has returned to the First Order, Hux reasons with himself. Not because he doesn't have the utmost confidence in his men's capabilities but because they're in such a precarious situation. If things were to escalate he'd prefer not be left wondering how he could have done better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Feel free to scream at me in the comments or on [tumblr](http://staticraining.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/StaticRaining)


	2. Futile Attempts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not how he has imagined his future as Grand Marshal of the First Order, Hux muses as he punches the access code into the console. He has envisioned a future as a conqueror of stars, not as the handler of an overgrown, volatile child.
> 
> The lights on the console switch from red to green as the doors slide open.
> 
> Hux knows the destruction Kylo Ren is capable of but that knowledge proves insufficient to prepare him for the sight unfolding before him now.
> 
> The room has been utterly demolished. Ren's bed is upturned and the bedframe twisted. The mattress is torn in half. Splinters of transparisteel litter the floor around Ren's naked feet, red with his blood where he has stepped on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Added Tags:** Unresolved Sexual Tension, Explicit Language.  
>     
> Thank you, [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) for whipping this whole thing into shape.  
> And thank you, [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for holding my hand throughout all of this and saving me from more mental breakdowns than I could count.
> 
> And a huge thank you to all the wonderful people who took the time to write a comment. You're the best!

* * *

 

 

Over time, the bruises turn from an angry purple to a more subdued yellow and grey, circling his neck like a collar. The implications make Hux scrunch up his nose in disgust. They're invisible underneath his uniform but Hux feels marked in a way that reminds him too much of his youth, when he was skinny and weak and utterly at the mercy of his father.

Hux grinds his teeth and wills the unpleasant thoughts away with a shake of his head as he makes his way down to the lower levels of the _Huntress_.

The training areas he usually avoids for obvious reasons: He's not a fighter, for one, though he knows how to use the monomolecular blade hidden inside his sleeve well enough. Secondly, showing off in the ring and thus giving the whole ship a chance to study his fighting style has always appeared counterproductive to Hux.

His men may be exceptionally trained and loyal to a fault, but Hux won’t knowingly put himself at such a disadvantage. Let them wonder if there was more to Grand Marshal Hux than his training simulations and tactical exercises.

Hux hasn't come here to spar but to be seen. The lower ranks respect him but only know him from the propaganda holo-vids the Order is so fond of broadcasting all over the galaxy. It might be time for a more direct approach to boost morale.

Hurrying along the brightly lit corridors, he prepares himself for the inevitable stares, the questioning looks the troops will, without a doubt, throw at him. What he hasn't anticipated when he arrives at the training area is Kylo Ren in the middle of the ring, taking on five men simultaneously while about two dozen other men watch with rapt attention.

Ren has forgone his heavy cape and tunic and fights in only a simple top and high-waisted pants. His hair is pulled back into a bun and only then does Hux realize that there’s nothing to obscure his face, no silly helmet to hide the painfully soft curve of his mouth and the sharp line of his nose.

Hux is sure that the men here have never seen Kylo Ren without his mask before and most are so taken with him, they don't notice (or don't care) that their Grand Marshal is among them.

It's just as well, Hux thinks as he makes himself comfortable on one of the benches surrounding the ring. This might even prove educational.

There's no denying that Ren strikes an impressive figure with his broad shoulders and long legs. His sheer physicality is overwhelming and Hux can't find it in himself to be disappointed when his men take a frightened step backwards as Ren surges forward.

They're using training swords, which Hux is grateful for; he'd rather not lose more valuable troopers to Ren's lightsaber.

Even without his famed weapon, Ren is an opponent to be feared, merciless in his attacks and faster than his massive body should have allowed. Within seconds, the first man is down and bleeding. It's no more than a broken nose, nothing a bacta patch can't fix but painful still. The injured trooper licks over his lips, tasting some of his own blood before getting up again. Hux is pleased to see such dedication in his soldiers but finds his attention quickly drawn back to Ren.

His raw strength is outstanding. Every hit, every swing of his weapon, he puts his whole body into. It makes for powerful attacks but leaves him vulnerable to counterattacks.

The men soon realize that they can't beat Ren individually and start circling him to attack all at the same time. Ren manages to deflect the blows of three but the fourth hits him in the shoulder. He stumbles backwards, crouched low, eyes flashing with anger.

It's like the artificial air around them has stopped moving and Hux leans forward in his seat, eyes narrowed in anticipation.

The man who has landed the hit seems to be as surprised as the rest, blinking owlishly behind the transparisteel shield of his protective helmet.

Hux feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The taste of iron is on the tip of his tongue and the smell of ozone penetrates his nose. Just like it did in Snoke's throne room before Ren had choked him into submission and Hux's eyes threatened to overflow with rage-filled tears.

He rises from his seat, ready to call out to Ren and put an end to this before the situation can escalate, but then the sudden tension is gone, leaving nothing but the faint smell of ozone behind.

Ren straightens, pulls his shoulders back and turns to Hux, his gaze so deep and unreadable he might as well have worn a mask. A feeling of dread overcomes Hux, settling heavily in his belly. He feels inexplicably exposed, naked underneath Ren's scrutiny.

The moment is over so quickly Hux isn't entirely convinced he hasn’t only imagined it. When he manages to regain his composure, Ren is already engaged in another fight.

Hux is left alone on the bench and with his thoughts, itching for a shower.

In the end, he stays and watches until Ren calls an end to the impromptu training session. After the first fight, the men had gone head over heals to get in line for a chance to go up against the fabled Kylo Ren, their new Supreme Leader. Ren indulged them, every single man, until there was no one left to challenge him anymore.

Anger and agitation tear at Hux. It's clumsy, juvenile, to try and earn the respect of the men in such a way: primitive male bonding through physicality. There’s no finesse to it, no elegance, yet judging by the awed expression of some of the younger troopers, it works just as intended. Kylo Ren has made himself accessible without needing to be charming.

Hux bites the inside of his cheek until he can taste blood.

He has underestimated Ren, shameful as it is to admit it, convinced that he would stay hidden in his rooms and content with letting Hux do all the dirty work.

When he looks at Ren once more, he finds that his gaze is being returned.

"Leave us," Ren says, eyes fixed on Hux.

The words are spoken softly but brook no argument and the assembled men are quick to obey, leaving Hux alone with an unusually solemn Kylo Ren.

Ren remains silent for entirely too long, motionless and staring at Hux. A drop of sweat runs down his neck and collects in the cradle of his collarbones before it disappears underneath his clammy shirt.

"You set course to the Pressylla System," Ren says, after what feels like hours.

Yes," Hux confirms.

If Ren expects him to justify his decision then he's sorely mistaken. It’s the most logical course of action and not even Ren can argue with that.

"Then why haven't we left this system yet?" Ren asks, grabbing his training sword more tightly. Hux tries not to feel intimidated by him.

"We're still in the process of salvaging everything of value from the _Supremacy_ and the other ships that were lost during the battle. Before the Resistance has a chance to. We can’t risk any of the Order's data or resources falling into the hands of this scum," Hux explains, barely keeping the annoyance out of his voice. Ren should know these things.

Ren’s dark eyes widen at the mention of the _Supremacy_.

“Snoke's library contained several holocrons. I want them."

Hux has no idea what he's talking about.

"I want the whole library, everything."

"Certainly, Supreme Leader."

Hux doesn't tell him that they have already recovered some of Snoke's personal belongings, including a collection of garish robes that Hux intends to sell. But most of the work has yet to be done and he needs time if he wants to inspect anything of interest before Ren gets his hands on it.

"See to it that everything has been transferred by the next cycle," Ren grumbles.

"What?" Hux hisses. A cycle is barely enough to recover everything, let alone give him the opportunity to search for valuable information. "Supreme Leader, with our shortage of personnel it's nearly impossible to finish the recovery in a single cycle."

Ren steps closer, so close Hux can smell the sweat on his skin.

"Just now, two dozen men have had the time to challenge me in the ring. Twice as many have watched. Your men have been idle, Grand Marshal. I suggest you find more productive ways to occupy them. Have I made myself clear?"

Hux swallows thickly but returns Ren's stare with equal intensity, ignoring his body's unease at their proximity.

His men haven't been idle. All those present during Ren's training session have been off-duty. Hux may be known as ruthless but he's not stupid. He knows how far he can push the troops. Ren cleary doesn't.

"Yes, Supreme Leader," he grits out between clenched teeth.

Ren hums in agreement, placated for the moment, it seems. After all, Hux hasn't ended up on his hands and knees, pushed to the ground by an invisible force. A victory, all things considered.

"I take it you have developed the training program these men undertook."

The change in topic comes so sudden Hux has to force himself not to let the surprise show on his face.

"Yes," he says finally, "I have."

Which Ren would know if he had bothered to access Hux's public file just once during the five years they both served on the _Finalizer_.

"Yet your own combat experience is entirely theoretical."

Hux feels his right eyelid twitch. Ren is still uncomfortably close but Hux refuses to take a step back and thus admit defeat

"That’s correct."

If Ren thinks he can shame Hux on grounds of him not being a seasoned veteran--

"I don't believe you, Grand Marshal," Ren whispers close to his ear. "You're a tactician, some even say a brilliant one, but that alone is not enough to know how best to prepare a man for war."

This time, Hux is unable to keep the surprise off his face.

"What? I assure you, Supreme Leader--"

Ren silences him with an impatient wave of his hand and Hux's mouth snaps shut with such force, his teeth rattle.

"Spare me your excuses. I _will_ find out what you're hiding from me. In due time. Until then, Grand Marshal, I think you have a recovery mission to oversee."

Hux is no fool, he knows a dismissal when he hears one.

He doesn’t run, he would never show such weakness, but the click-clack of his heels is loud and rapid as he heads for his quarters and the monomolecular blade hidden inside his sleeve—usually a comforting weight—feels like a branding iron pressed against his skin.

The moment the doors of his suite slide close behind him, Hux hurries to brew himself a cup of Tarine tea. No alcohol, even though his frenzied mind would like that. He needs his head to be clear; he needs to think.

There are no records of his military training other than the ones detailing his education on the _Eclipse_ —simulations and tactical tests, nothing with which to get his hands dirty.

Briefly, he entertains the idea that Ren has used his little Force trick to penetrate his mind but discards it just as quickly again. From what Hux has gathered, only the weak-willed can be broken so easily and he considers himself anything but.

Snoke, Hux finally realizes. There were few things Hux could keep from him and it’s entirely possible that he has shared some of his knowledge with his apprentice. Though how much, Hux cannot know for sure.

Of course, Ren hasn't been wrong in assuming that Hux has his secrets, carefully kept hidden from him and everybody else but they're of a different nature than Ren suspects.

Hux is neither a skilled hand-to-hand combatant, nor is he a secret master sniper, but one doesn’t rise in the ranks of the Order as quickly as he did without slitting a few throats. If he has to kill, Hux prefers to do so with poison and small, easily hidden blades. Never has he incorporated any of his knowledge of poisons and stealthy kills into his combat simulations.

The question that remains is: how much does Ren know?

 

* * *

 

After the first cup of tea Hux has calmed considerably.

Ren doesn't know anything for sure, Hux has decided. He merely suspects. None of the murders Hux has committed were declared as such. Accidents, all of them, at least according to the official reports of the Order's investigation board.

Hux runs a hand through his slicked-back hair, causing some of the strands to come loose and fall over his red-rimmed eyes.

If Ren wants to get rid of him then there are easier ways to do so than accuse Hux of keeping his combat training a secret from him.

In the training ring, he hasn't outright demanded Hux tell him the truth, hasn't dragged him into one of the interrogation chambers and crushed his mind until all his secrets spilled from his tongue. It’s something Ren otherwise excels in; Hux has seen the holo-recordings of all of his interrogations.

In due time, Ren has said. As if it were a game to him.

Hux traces the rim of the insulated drinking cup. It's still warm and provides some comfort, calming him while he contemplates what it is that Ren wants.

Ren hates Hux—the feeling is mutual of course—but he knows his value, or so Hux hopes. As long as Ren hasn’t mastered the necessary skills to lead an organisation such as the Order alone, Hux's position is safe. He very much doubts Ren can be bothered to find a fitting replacement for him. Too much trouble, too much work. As long as he thinks he can put Hux on a leash Ren will keep him at his side.

Hux purses his lips, tasting the last faint remnants of tea.

The title of Grand Marshal, bestowed upon him so unexpectedly, seems less like an honor and more like a cheap trick to assure Hux's loyalty for as long as it takes Ren to find somebody more suitable to his tastes now.

Ren is no strategist but nonetheless Hux wonders if he has planned this. His ego likes to believe that Ren is hardly capable of such manipulation. Ren has only ever relied on brute strength and his Force abilities to get his point across. Too emotional, too impulsive, Hux has always told Snoke only for his concerns to fall on deaf ears.

Hux sighs and rubs at his temples. All his brooding is leading nowhere. He's not paranoid by nature but he can't help the feeling that he's missing something vital when it comes to Ren and his motivations.

It can't be helped. He can do little but be patient and watch Ren's every move in hopes that, when the time comes, he's fast enough to strike first. He doesn’t intend to have to strike a second time.

After checking his datapad for any urgent messages and rescheduling the shifts of some of the troops to allow more of them to assist with the salvaging of the Supremacy, he makes his way to the adjoining refresher in his suite.

The water—a water-based shower is one of the few indulgences Hux allows himself—is scalding hot, the way he likes it, and his pale, freckled skin quickly turns red underneath the stream.

It grounds him, allows him to concentrate on something other than Ren. He has always occupied Hux's thoughts in one way or another, often in relation to him breaking a piece of expensive equipment, but lately it has reached unacceptable levels.

When Hux emerges from the shower he feels no less exhausted but the anxiety churning in his stomach has died down to a bearable if unpleasant pull.

Come next cycle, he will head to the wreckage of the _Supremacy_ himself and oversee the salvaging process. He wants to see what there is that Ren wants so badly.

For now though, Hux contents himself with a few hours of sleep.

 

* * *

 

Even as a wreckage, the Supremacy is impressive. It almost pains Hux to walk through the remnants of the ship that was supposed to be his.

Tens of thousands of men have found their death here, burned, torn apart, suffocated and frozen to death when they had been sucked into outer space. They still don't know the exact number of casualties or the extent of the damage done to the fleet. Debris is littering the floors, the inner workings of of the ship laid bare where the durasteel has been torn away like paper.

At least Snoke's throne room and the adjacent chambers are mostly intact. The artificial gravity generators and air vents, powered by an emergency battery independent from the main system, are still working. Ren will be pleased to hear that.

Snoke's corpse has been removed, just as the corpses of his Praetorian guard have, but the smell of burned flesh is still heavy in the air.

"A girl did this?" one of the stormtroopers accompanying Hux asks in disbelief as he takes in the debris cluttering the ground.

Hux gives him a sharp, warning look. "Lord Ren has confirmed this. The girl was unusually strong with the Force."

The stormtrooper doesn't dare speak up again but Hux doesn't need to see his face underneath the helmet to know what kind of expression he’s wearing: doubt.

He makes a mental note to inquire about the identification numbers of the stormtroopers who accompany him and have this one sent to reconditioning. If there’s one thing he can't abide among those serving underneath him it's doubt.

Of course it's ridiculous to think that a scavenger girl from Jakku could have killed Supreme Leader Snoke. Not for a second has Hux believed it himself. But doubt leads to questions and questions lead to insubordination.

Hux wonders why Ren has even bothered with the lie. Usurpers are not uncommon in the First Order and Snoke was, for most, more shadow than man. He won't be missed among the lower ranks. Hux certainly won’t miss him.

If Ren wanted to make the Order believe the girl had murdered Snoke then he shouldn't have killed the Praetorian guard. A forensic examination of the corpses had shown wounds caused by two different weapons, half of them fitting Ren's signature, unstable lightsaber.

Hux has had Mitaka incinerate the corpses and destroy all forensic reports, though not without copying the data to his personal datapad first.

As far as the Order is concerned, Leader Snoke has been killed by a Force-user of the Resistance. No further questions asked. For now, Hux intents to keep it that way.

"Grand Marshal?"

Hux looks up, torn from his thought and finds himself face to face with another stormtrooper, his own silhouette reflected in the eye slits of the helmet.

"Supreme Leader Kylo Ren is here."

"What?" Hux hisses the same moment Kylo Ren rounds the corner, cape billowing behind him.

The trooper next to him draws in a sharp breath before he remembers who’s standing before him and salutes. Ren's unmasked face remains a surprise, it seems.

Hux is less impressed.

"Supreme Leader," he greets, careful to keep all emotion out of his voice. "We hadn't expected you to join us on this mission."

"I want to see the library," Ren says and breezes past Hux without greeting.

There's nothing Hux can do but swallow his rage and follow, motioning for two troopers to do the same.

Watching Ren’s broad back while he walks, it becomes obvious that he’s familiar with these rooms and knows exactly where he's going. It’s to be expected, Hux thinks, considering that he has been Snoke’s precious apprentice.

Ren draws surprised looks from the men whenever he passses them, but they’re quick to get back to work when Hux sends them a withering glare. Really, his men should have more discipline than that.

Snoke's library is miraculously untouched. It’s elegant in its simplicity: a circular room, the walls coming together in a transparisteel dome that allows a spectacular view of the stars. Countless datapads adorn simple shelves lined up on the walls, sharing the space with ancient books written on paper. Scattered among those are strange cubes, covered in runes Hux can't decipher, glowing with a soft, red light.

"I want everything in here brought to my quarters immediately," Ren says.

Hux shoots him a dirty look. What does Ren think they have been doing the last few hours?

With a curt gesture, he orders his troopers to work faster. They carefully place the pads and books in the intended containers but avoid the cubes. Holocrons, Ren has called them. Similar to encrypted datapads in that they could only be accessed with the right codes or skill set. In this case: Force-sensitivity.

"Do you hear it? The whispers? They're calling me," Ren says, his eyes half-closed. His lashes, Hux notices, are long and thick, almost casting shadows on his cheekbones.

Ren reaches out and one of the holocrons wriggles on the shelf before floating directly into Ren's open palm. He turns it around, examining it from every angle before letting it slide into the hidden pockets sewn into the folds of his tunic.

"You're wondering why I'm here," he says and turns to Hux.

Hux blinks, momentarily caught off-guard though he's quick to compose himself.

"I’d prefer it if you refrained from rummaging around in my head," he says, ice-cold.

Ren chuckles, a deep sound that makes the hairs on Hux’s arms stand up.

"I don't need to penetrate your mind to see that you're wondering why I came here when you're perfectly capable of handling this on your own. Your face says enough.”

Hux allows himself to imagine how it would feel to punch the smug expression off Ren's own face. Make him bleed from that obscene mouth, savor the shocked surprise in those doleful eyes.

The fantasy provides little actual satisfaction but is enough to calm Hux so that he’s able to reply with his usual composure.

"And will you indulge my curiosity, Supreme Leader?"

He has his suspicions, of course. That Ren has, somehow, found out about his plan to analyse Snoke's data first and thought it best to prevent it by overseeing the salvage process himself. It would complicate things significantly.

Surprisingly enough, Ren _does_ indulge him.

The amused glint in his eyes is gone, having made way for something more serious.

"The Force," he says and his eyes seek something in the distance that isn't there, searching. "It called me here. It wanted to show me something."

"That…" Hux has to pause, his throat dry and the words heavy on his tongue, "is utterly ridiculous."

Instantly, Ren's expression hardens and the soft look in his eyes is gone, replaced by anger. It’s comforting in its familiarity. He doesn't say another word and leaves as quickly as he has come, the air around him prickling with poorly suppressed anger.

Hux's gaze follows him until he has disappeared around the corner. He pointedly ignores the questioning looks of his men.

 

* * *

 

They finish on time. Of course they do. Nobody has wanted to be the unfortunate soul who had to report a failed mission to Ren.

When Hux returns to the _Huntress_ , it's with crates full of datapads, books and other valuables and he feels accomplished for maybe the first time since they've lost Starkiller base.

The feeling is of short lived. He has barely set foot in the _Huntress'_ shuttle bay when he sees Mitaka approaching him, all but running.

"Sir," he greets, saluting Hux, "I know you have just returned from the _Supremacy_ but… well--"

Hux cuts his stammering short. "It's Supreme Leader Ren, isn't it?"

Mitaka nods. He looks desperate, his forehead glistening with sweat. "Yes, sir. Staff has reported screams and crashing noises coming from his quarters but the only ones with the access codes are himself… and you."

Hux sighs, then straightens. "Understood. I'll handle things from here on. Oversee the unloading and cataloging of late Leader Snoke's belongings while I'm gone."

He doesn't waste another second, confident that Mitaka will handle everything to his utmost satisfaction, and hurries to Ren's quarters, cursing softly underneath his breath.

Ren doesn't know that Hux has the access codes to his rooms. He would have liked to keep it that way for a little longer but if Mitaka—who has witnessed enough of Ren's tantrums to know when things are getting out of hand—thinks it best to inform him, then this is not a regular outburst.

 

* * *

 

It really isn't.

Hux can hear Ren's screams and the crashing noises accompanying them long before reaching his actual quarters.

A handful of low ranking officers huddle around the room, looking at each other helplessly, cringing every time another scream from behind the thick sliding doors rips through the uncomfortable silence.

"Grand Marshal!" one of them calls out as soon as she notices him. The relief is almost palpable.

"Back to your posts, all of you," Hux hisses, not in the mood for lengthy discussions. They scatter like spider-roaches exposed to sunlight.

This is not how he has imagined his future as Grand Marshal of the First Order, Hux muses as he punches the access code into the console. He has envisioned a future as a conqueror of stars, not as the handler of an overgrown, volatile child.

The lights on the console switch from red to green as the doors slide open.

Hux knows the destruction Kylo Ren is capable of but that knowledge proves insufficient to prepare him for the sight unfolding before him now.

The room has been utterly demolished. Ren's bed is upturned and the bedframe twisted. The mattress is torn in half. Splinters of transparisteel litter the floor around Ren's naked feet, red with his blood where he has stepped on them.

The only thing not torn to shreds is the holocron lying to Ren's feet, pulsing red and Hux can’t help but feel that the cube is _amused_.

In the center of all that chaos stands Ren, a hulkling, battered mess. His hair is in tangles, hanging wildly around his face. Blood is running down his nose and over his lips in a way that was reminiscent of the traditional markings of Naboo’s royal house.

He turns as soon as Hux sets foot inside his rooms. Like an unruly child, Hux thinks. He’s embarrassed, the humiliation at being caught in such a state by Hux of all people near palpable.

It's quite pathetic.

“Some things never change, do they," Hux says as he moves closer, broken transparisteel crunching beneath his boots.

Ren doesn't rise to the bait. He stands still, a mountain of a man yet still so much like a child, and redirects his attention back to the holocron.

"It called to me," he whispers. "It called to me and yet it won't open."

He furrows his brows, staring accusingly at the cube, as if it's a sentient being capable of mocking him.

"Have you tried choking it?" Hux asks dryly, too exhausted to rein in his bitterness.

Ren shoots him a scathing glare but stays motionless otherwise. That, in itself, is alarming. More so than any violence Ren could have inflicted upon Hux.

"It's attuned to Snoke's Force signature. It won't open for anybody else."

Ren looks defeated, tired now that he has spent all his energy on a senseless rampage.

"I tried opening it, tried bending it to my will," Ren says and his eyes linger on the shards covering the floor.

An obviously futile attempt, Hux thinks but doesn’t say. "And bending it to your will made destroying every single piece of furniture in this room necessary?"

Ren's eyes flash with anger and he takes a step forward, ignoring the shards digging into the soles of his feet.

"What do you know of the Force?" he scoffs, every word laced with condescension.

Such arrogance. It’s so typically Ren, Hux can’t find it in him to feel insulted. He may not be Force-sensitive but records of Force-users do exist, as well as quite a few academical papers detailing and discussing the workings of that fabled power. Hux has read them all. When he first made Ren's acquaintance it had seemed only sensible to try and understand how his powers worked.

Hux has no love for the Force and remains skeptical but he isn't in denial. He has seen what Ren is capable of. Though, clearly, it's not enough to open a little, magical cube.

"Not much," Hux admits after some consideration, "but for the sake of the equipment and the sanity of the troops, may I offer a suggestion?"

Ren doesn't outright reject him. Even though he'd like to. Hux can see it in the tightening of his mouth and the sudden tension in his shoulders. He doesn't want Hux's help.

"Go ahead," Ren grumbles after some time.

"As impressive as this demonstration of raw, uncontrolled power is," Hux makes a gesture encompassing the whole room. "It's clearly not yielding any results. You said it's attuned to Snoke's Force signature?"

Ren nods, his expression shifting from suspicion to hesitant curiosity.

"Then the most logical approach would be to alter your own Force signature to match his."

Ren stills and his eyes flash angrily before that flame dies a sudden death.

"I'll consider it."

Hux blinks and is sure that the surprise is written plainly on his face but to have Ren not only listen to but even consider following his advice is unprecedented.

"Well then," Hux says when saying something becomes inevitable, "I shall leave you to it."

Ren nods slowly, and Hux can feel his unblinking gaze following him as he turns on his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Feel free to scream at me in the comments or on [tumblr](http://staticraining.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/StaticRaining)


	3. Careful, Ren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ren moves closer, crowding Hux with his body.
> 
> He opens his mouth to say something but then his eyes widen and he pulls back before Hux has a chance to ram the blade of his monomolecular stiletto into his gut.
> 
> "Careful, Ren," Hux warns, trying to project a confidence he doesn’t feel. He’s shaking, chest heaving.
> 
> Ren's eyes widen has he takes in the thin, almost invisible blade protruding from the control stud hidden in Hux's sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Added Tags:** Politics, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault (not between Kylux), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Abuse, Force Choking  
> 
> 
> A huge thank you to all the people who took the time to read the last two chapters. I love all three of you.

III

 

Ren remains uncommonly docile for the next few cycles. The repair droid Hux has dispatched to restore some resemblance of order in Ren's rooms informed him that their Supreme Leader was meditating and had been doing so for the timespan it took the droid to clear the sorry remains of Ren's furnishings.

Ren's unusual tranquillity allows Hux to focus on more important things, the rebuilding of their fleet in particular.

After everything of value had been salvaged from the Supremacy and the other ships, they set course to the Pressylla system. According to Mitaka’s calculations, they should arrive in less than two standard hours.

Already, Hux has established communications with the current director of the First Order's mining facility on Pressy's Tumble, a greasy man named Pollius Felix. He’s opportunistic with an almost pathological craving for recognition and fame, but without the necessary discipline and intelligence to earn it.

Felix had feigned delight upon hearing that the Supreme Leader himself and Grand Marshal Hux were on their way to Pressy's Tumble but Hux could see the rusty cogs turning inside the man's head: He wasn't at all pleased to have them there, in what he perceived to be his domain, and wondered what it was they could possibly demand. And how he could exploit it.

All in all, a vile, pathetic man.

Hux has no time for a territorial pissing contest. Pollius Felix is ultimately insignificant. All Hux needs are resources. War is expensive after all and Pressy's Tumble is rich in ore and, more importantly, Cortosis.

There are other necessities not as easily obtained as ore but luckily Snoke's influence had been far-reaching, and studying his numerous datapads and recordings have revealed an intricate network of contacts strewn throughout the galaxy that Hux intends to exploit shamelessly.

Despite Hux's initial fear that Ren could deny him access to Snoke's datapads, he had cared for nothing but the holocrons salvaged from the Supremacy. This left Hux with the freedom to sift through the rest at his leisure.

Snoke had not bothered to encrypt the datapads, too secure in his own perceived superiority, incapable of imagining somebody powerful enough to overthrow him and make use of the information stored in them.

Most contain petty drivel, legends of Sith and Jedi, the usual Force mumbo jumbo Hux has no patience for. He scrolls through them with indifference until an all too familiar name catches his eye.

It's a holo-vid labeled _Kylo Ren_ and immediately Hux's interest is piqued.

Hux plays it without thinking, eager for any and all intel on Ren that might help in the orchestration of his downfall.

The holovid flickers to life and the pixelated forms of at least seven people take shape. Not all of them are humans—at least one is a Twi'lek, their lekku adorned with black tattoos—but they all wear the same, simple robes. Their design reminds Hux faintly of those worn by the Sith in some of the holo-vids he has watched during his research. The majority of the group is armed with vibro-swords and axes. One swings a heavy-handed quarterstaff.

Six of them form a circle around the seventh, their weapons raised.

Hux recognises him instantly, even though he's younger in the holo-vid, not quite as broad as he's now, with his hair in an elaborate braid that strikes Hux as overly complicated. Brendol would have never allowed his own son to wear his hair in such a ridiculous manner.

Unlike his hairstyle, Ren's lightsaber is of a simpler design. There are no crackling crossguards, no erratic core, just a sleek blade that Ren wields with great power. Much like on Crait and in the training ring, he swings it without regard to his own safety.

Hux isn’t surprised when this recklessness proves Ren’s downfall. One of his opponents is quick to exploit the opening Ren has unknowingly given him. With one precise hit the Twi'lek fells the boy. Ren goes down with a cry and clutches his side. His fingers are smeared with blood when he pulls back.

His body twitches, chest heaving, and when he raises his head his cheeks are wet with tears.

The others spare him no pity. Another man—at least Hux believes them to be male—swings his sword in a great arch over his head and brings it down on Ren’s vulnerable back.

The blade bursts into a thousand pieces before it can find its target, the shards raining down on Ren like a glittering, cutting rain.

Before the man can react Ren has him by the throat, lifting him up as if he weighs nothing.

It's a short-lived victory. While Ren has been distracted, the figure wielding the quarterstaff has sneaked up behind Ren and with a resounding crack, the staff connects with Ren's back.

He loses his hold on the other opponent and turns around, half-mad with anger.

That was a mistake. Within a heartbeat, the Twi'lek is on him again, her twin swords a deadly whirlwind as she cuts into the boy until his robes are drenched in his own blood.

Scrambling on the ground, he blindly fumbles for the lightsaber he has dropped when hit by the quarterstaff.

He screams at every new wound, every cut. He screams and screams and screams until Hux hears nothing but broken cries reverberating in his ears.

The recording cuts off soon after, leaving Hux to contemplate what he has seen in the semi-darkness of the room. The video has shown him nothing he hasn't at least subconsciously been aware of already. Snoke had always been a merciless master and Hux isn’t so naive as to believe he had been the only one subjected to his unique brand of cruelty. Yet seeing Ren beaten so savagely conjures up memories Hux would have rather left behind.

Ren's too soft face covered in tears had been an all too familiar sight. It was the same face Hux used to see in the mirror whenever he had somehow displeased Brendol and thus earned himself a vicious beating with his father's belt.

Hux scoffs, disgusted with himself and furious at Ren for unknowingly bringing back such unpleasant memories.

"Sir?"

Hux looks up and stares into the silver-plated face of his personal protocol droid. Its an older model that used to belong to Brendol and had miraculously survived the battle with the Resistance. He’s quite fond of it.

"Scheduled reminder that the shuttle to Pressy's Tumble will be ready for departure in fifty-six minutes."

 _Already?_ Hux thinks and frowns. He has wasted too much time with Snoke's records.

"Noted. Send a request to Supreme Leader Ren to meet me in the shuttle bay in five minutes."

The droid stands motionless, its artificial eyes flickering as it accesses the _Huntress_ ’ intranet and comm system.

"Done, sir. Do you have any other tasks for me?"

Hux shakes his head. "No. Thank you, Kayfour. You're dismissed."

The droid inclines its head and trots away, retreating to a far corner of Hux’s suite where it goes into standby-mode.

Hux grabs his datapad and holsters his blaster. There’s no time to conduct a proper briefing but he cannot reconcile it with his sense of duty to leave Kylo Ren completely unprepared to deal with Pollius Felix, no matter how amusing it'd be to see him try and fail to navigate the merciless world of First Order politics.

Ren is the living, breathing embodiment of the First Order now and they cannot afford to appear weak in front of those eager to take their positions.

 

* * *

 

"Pollius Felix. Thirty-seven standard years old. Born 3 BBY. Educated on the Super Star Destroyer _Eclipse_. Descendant of an old, prestigious family with many ties to politicians, businessmen and entrepreneurs in the Core Worlds as well as the Outer Rim Territories. He could prove useful."

They're in the shuttle's private compartment, separated from the pilot and crew, and Hux is tempted to throw his datapad at Ren's head.

He's not paying attention to anything Hux is saying. Instead he’s staring into empty space, his fists clenching and unclenching in his lap.

Hux does not let Ren's lack of interest deter him.

"He will cooperate as long as he thinks it's advantageous for him. I have requested to use the facility’s hyperspace relay to convene a meeting with the remaining leadership of the Order to discuss our next steps."

He pauses to look at Ren. Nothing in his expression indicates that he has heard Hux. _Son of a bitch._

"What _are_ our next steps, Supreme Leader?" he asks.

Ren doesn't deign to look at Hux, let alone reply and silence stretches uncomfortably between them until the comm crackles to life and the voice of their pilot fills the unpleasant void.

"Landing in 60 seconds, sirs. Please fasten your seatbelts."

Hux puts away his datapad, a picture of Pollius Felix still gracing the screen, and fastens his belt as instructed.

He doesn't bother to check if Ren does the same. If Hux is lucky then Ren considers standard safety regulations beneath him and gets himself killed during the landing, skull split open as he's hauled forward by the recoil and against a durasteel wall.

Of course, Hux isn’t so fortunate and they arrive on Pressy's Tumble without incident.

It’s a dreary sight that greets them. The artificial asteroid field is devoid of life and color, the fragments of the moon it once was a grey, depressing mass barely held together by an artificial gravity field.

On the largest moon fragment stands, intimidating and cold, the Order's base. It's a nondescript building, no regalia adorn its walls. Even Hux, despite his preference for sleek, sharp styles, finds it incredibly dull.

As their shuttle makes its descent, Hux spots a small settlement made up of archaic cottages and lodgings similar in style and architecture to that of the base itself. The miner's colony, he deducts.

Pollius Felix is already waiting for them when they set foot on the surface. He's in full dress uniform, flanked by two stormtroopers. Behind him stands a young woman holding a datapad.

Ridiculous, Hux thinks as he resists the urge to roll his eyes at him and his entourage.

He walks behind Ren as they make their way from the shuttle to the facility and tries not to think of the myriad of ways this could go wrong.

"Supreme Leader Ren," Felix drawls as soon as they are within earshot. "Welcome to Pressy's Tumble. It's an honor to have you here. And General Hux as well, of course."

The bastard has the audacity to smirk at Hux.

Ren inclines his head in indication that he has acknowledged Felix's words but doesn't return the greeting.

"It's Grand Marshal Hux to you, Director Felix. I’ll have you treat my men with all the respect their rank dictates," Ren says.

The smug expression on Felix's face melts away and he stares at Ren in disbelief.

Hux can't blame him. Ren has just defended him in front of his dreaded colleague. It's a pleasant surprise but one Hux feels he will ultimately come to regret. Felix is a prideful man and he will not forget this humiliation.

Not that Ren would care. He glares at Felix, his dark eyes all but piercing him, unmistakably asserting dominance. Predictably, Felix yields and lowers his eyes.

"Of course, Supreme Leader. I didn't mean any disrespect. Please follow me."

The interior of the facility is just as monotonous as its exterior, long streamlined corridors illuminated by white lights that make Hux's skin look paler than it actually is.

"I have had two suites prepared for you and the Grand Marshal. Hopefully they will meet your approval."

Ren remains unresponsive and Hux can't help but be amused at the ease with which he undermines Felix. It's surprisingly entertaining when it is not him on the receiving end of Ren’s brusque ways.

Felix is quick to fill the uncomfortable silence with more inane chatter.

"The hyperspace relay is ready and at your disposal. If you need me to dispatch a message requesting a conference with the Order’s--"

"Do so," Ren says, effectively cutting off Felix, who flushes an ugly shade of red at the careless discourtesy.

Hux bites back a laugh. As amusing as this is, Felix would serve them better as an ally than as an enemy.

"The Supreme Leader and I would appreciate that," Hux says, softening the blow Ren's cold dismissal has dealt Felix's fragile ego. "How quickly can we establish contact?"

Felix eyes him carefully, suspicion etched into every line of his weaselly face.

"I can have everything arranged by 0200 GST."

"That will suffice," Hux says without waiting for Ren to voice his agreement. Luckily he doesn't protest.

They come to a halt in front of a nondescript door the same grey tone as the rest of the building.

"Your quarters, Supreme Leader," Felix announces with a flourish.

Ren doesn't move.

"And the Grand Marshal's quarters?" he asks.

"Just next door. I'll show the Grand Marshal immediately."

"That won't be necessary," Ren grunts and dismisses Felix with a wave of his hand. "You will leave now."

Felix freezes, his eyes dull and unseeing for a split second before quickly regaining their focus.

"I will leave now," he mumbles and turns on his heels, disappearing down the corridor the same way they had come. His stormtrooper guard as well as the young woman Hux suspects is his secretary are quick to follow.

Hux waits until they are out of earshot.

"Did you just mind-trick him into leaving?" he hisses at Ren.

"His mind is weak," Ren says, as if that’s explanation enough, and steps into his temporary quarters. "Come."

Hux follows, if only because he has not yet finished admonishing Ren.

A quick look around the room reveals elegant furnishings, tasteful decór and soft rugs—an almost disturbing contrast to the rest of the facility. It's refined and luxurious and thus utterly wasted on the likes of Ren.

"You purposefully agitated him," Hux accuses when the doors slide shut behind them, "and as much as I enjoy Felix seething with rage and unable to do anything about it, it wasn’t wise to provoke him like that."

Ren takes off his cape and lets it flutter to the floor, where it lands in a shapeless heap. Something inside Hux recoils at such wanton carelessness.

"You know him," Ren says and it isn't a question. Hux answers anyway.

"Claiming to know him would be a stretch but yes, we were both cadets aboard the _Eclipse_. Classmates so to speak."

Hux pauses and takes in the lavishly furnished room.

 _Surveillance cameras_ , he mouths at Ren who, for once, catches his meaning immediately. He closes his eyes and, a moment later, the unmistakable sound of crunching metal echoes through the room. Not exactly subtle but Hux won’t complain.

"He hates you," Ren says when he opens his eyes again.

It seems he won’t let the topic of Pollius Felix rest until he has all the answers he desires. Hux sighs.

"All his life, Felix was taught that his heritage makes him superior to his peers. I imagine he never quite recovered from the shock of a boy, three years his junior and born from a bloodline far less prestigious than his own, outshining him in every subject."

Hux tone is flat, the words spoken with trained detachment.

Back as cadets, Felix had never passed upon a chance to throw Hux's parentage into his face and, for a time, the insults and the name-calling had indeed cut Hux deeply. So many nights he had spent crying into the softness of his pillow, careful not to let his roommates hear.

Over time, the novelty of the abuse Felix would heap upon Hux wore off and caused little more than dull annoyance whenever he opened his mouth.

Hux simply forgot about him, had considered him unworthy of occupying his thoughts. To Felix though, Hux had always remained an affront, something that upset what he perceived to be the natural order of things.

"He hates you," Ren repeats, "but that's not all."

Hux arches a brow. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Ren makes a face, his lower lip quivering as he pulls it back in a sneer, showing entirely too much teeth.

"He wants you."

The sheer notion that somebody could want Hux in such a way seems to disgust and intrigue Ren in equal measure. His eyes are darting up and down Hux's body, drinking him in, examining him as if he’s desperately searching for something, anything that would justify the carnal desire he had seen in Felix's mind.

"He wants to subjugate me," Hux clarifies, "in every conceivable way. Sex is just one of the easier and quite frankly less creative ways to do so."

"You don't seem to be bothered by it," Ren says, hands twitching at his sides and disbelief coloring his deep voice.

Of course, as a child born of royal stock he had never found himself subjected to the mockery and disdain that came with being the illegitimate son.

Hux's mother had been a whore, spreading her legs for a married man and so, by association, Hux could be nothing but a whore as well. That was the argument Felix and his entourage of brainless cronies made. Little did it matter that, as a kitchen maid, his mother had hardly been in a position to reject the late General Hux's advances.

"If I was bothered by every snobbish prat who intended to show me my place by bending me over a console to have their wicked way with me then I'd be a cadet still. As it stands, there are more important matters at hand that require my attention.”

He pulls his datapad from the inner breast pocket of his uniform and, with a soft tap on the display, wills it to life.

"I have requested several high-ranking officers join us for this meeting. Since you have, so far, operated outside the Order's official command chain, I take it you're unfamiliar with their names and positions. Which is why I took the liberty of compiling a brief overview. I would like to go over it before the meeting is scheduled to commence."

Judging by the deep crease forming between Ren's brows, he's not particularly thrilled at the prospect of Hux lecturing him on First Order politics.

Well, Hux thinks as he mentally prepares himself for what will undoubtedly be a few excruciatingly long hours, that makes two of them already.

"Why should I care?" Ren spats as he paces the room. "Either they follow my orders or they don't and suffer the consequences."

"Not all of them are bumbling idiots like Felix,” Hux warns him. “These men and women have served under the Empire, they have seen more powerful men than you fall. Don't think, not even for one second, that just because you murdered your former master their loyalty automatically passes on to you."

Ren is on him in an instance. Even without the use of his powers he’s a force to be reckoned with. All air is punched out of Hux when he feels himself being lifted and smashed against the far wall. Pain shoots down his spine and he can't suppress a soft groan.

"What did you just say?" Ren snarls and has the gall to sound indignant. His hand curls around the half-healed bruises on Hux’s throat, his other on the hilt of his lightsaber.

"Don't insult my intelligence," Hux spits out between clenched teeth, fingers clawing at Ren’s sleeve. "You think I'd believe that a scavenger girl from Jakku was strong enough to kill Snoke and his elite guard all on her own?"

Ren moves closer, crowding Hux with his body.

He opens his mouth to say something but then his eyes widen and he pulls back before Hux has a chance to ram the blade of his monomolecular stiletto into his gut.

"Careful, Ren," Hux warns, trying to project a confidence he doesn’t feel. He’s shaking, chest heaving.

Ren's eyes widen has he takes in the thin, almost invisible blade protruding from the control stud hidden in Hux's sleeve.

"So that’s it? Daggers and knives?" he asks and sounds inexplicably pleased.

_Kriff._

"And poison," Hux adds, resigned. What point is there in keeping it secret any longer? "Had I so much as grazed your skin with this, you would have died a very quick, albeit painful death, Force-user or not."

This is an unfortunate turn of events. Hux had not planned to reveal his hand so quickly, if at all. But something about Ren's actual hands on him, big enough to span the entirety of his neck, has triggered a reaction far more powerful than some simple Force-induced choking.

It was too intimate, too real, all that skin against skin; Hux's throat moving underneath Ren's calloused fingers as he tried and failed to swallow. He rubs his free hand over his throat, desperate to get rid of the last phantom remnants of Ren's warmth.

So far Ren has not killed him; his lightsaber dangles uselessly at his side.

"Don't tell me you feel betrayed," Hux grumbles when Ren keeps alternating between staring at him and his monomolecular blade. "You can't be that stupid." He lets the blade retreat back into its sheath.

"Fear makes you rude," Ren observes with unusual placidity.

"Is that all you have to contribute to this conversation?" Hux bristles, mostly because Ren is right. He has just assaulted his Supreme Leader and Ren would be well within his rights to execute him on the spot. The small tendril of fear that’s curling in Hux’s belly and which Ren has apparently picked up on seems excusable under the circumstances.

Ren considers the question for some time, his head bowed in contemplation.

"How many?" he finally asks.

Hux halts, caught off-guard.

"What?"

"How many have you killed?"

Ren looks genuinely curious, head slightly cocked. A curl of jet-black hair has escaped from the messy bun he’s wearing and is falling over his forehead. It irritates Hux to no end.

Hux snorts and brushes invisible dust off his greatcoat.

"The number of casualties in the Hosnian System resulting from the Starkiller attack--" he begins but is cut off by Ren.

"No," he shakes his head. "Not Starkiller. You. How many have you killed?"

He levels a pointed look at where Hux's blade is hidden again in his sleeve.

Too many, Hux's thinks but doesn't say. He has no delusions concerning the atrocities he had to commit to get where he is now, and remorse is a concept entirely foreign to him, but he prides himself on his wit and ability to orchestrate his enemies' demises without getting his own hands dirty. Thus, every kill of his feels like a personal failure, even though the end result remains the same: they died and Hux prevailed.

He gives in when he senses Ren's patience running thin.

“Twenty-seven.”

Hux remembers every face, every name of every man, woman or alien he has ever killed. Julan Odan, a boy at the Young Imperials Programme on the _Eclipse_ who had tried to force himself between Hux's legs in the communal showers when they were both cadets. Dana Crow, his politics instructor, who had denied him a recommendation letter for his officer’s career application, despite Hux being her top student. Captain Kamalas Titus, whose position Hux coveted but was refused because command believed him too young for such responsibilities.

They all had to die for petty reasons; Hux isn’t above admitting that. Vengeance, envy, lofty aspirations, all good enough for Hux to kill. A lapse in judgement like the one he just committed? Less so.

Sweat collects at the back of his neck as he tries to gauge Ren’s reaction and Hux can feel himself rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, a nervous habit not even Brendol could beat entirely out of him.

Ren’s usually overly-expressive face is frustratingly placid, there’s no anger to the curl of his lips, no hatred in his black eyes. If Hux didn’t know better he’d say Ren looks amused.

“Impressive,” he says and steps closer, invading Hux’s personal space so casually Hux is tempted to try and stab him again, “so you’re not all bark and no bite.”

"You think I got where I am by yelling orders and doing little else?" Hux grumbles.

Ren hums and turns away, presenting Hux with his broad and all too tempting, unprotected back. Hux doesn't move.

"You know I killed Snoke," Ren muses.

"Obviously," Hux huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.

The question why Hux has decided to keep Ren’s secret and play along with his little charade remains unsaid; Ren is clever enough not to challenge Hux's unexpected loyalty.

"It seems we’re even, Grand Marshal. A secret for a secret."

"It seems so," Hux reluctantly agrees.

If the only consequences he will to face for attacking a direct superior is an exchange of dirty, little secrets then he should be grateful. It claws at him anyway, to have wasted such an advantage by losing his carefully cultivated control, if only for just a moment.

"Well then," Ren throws him a look over his shoulder, "Let’s get it over with that dreadful briefing of yours."

Hux sighs, steels his resolve and pulls up the the file of General Callista Blaise.

 

* * *

 

"Of course," Pollius Felix drawls as he leans back in his chair, the epitome of misguided self-importance, "Pressy's Tumble will assist our Supreme Leader in every way it can, and we will provide all necessary resources but —and forgive me for speaking so bluntly—  it's a lot you're asking, Grand Marshal. Much of the Order's revenue is generated by selling the ore to the Hutts and other fractions in the Outer Rim. The amount you're asking for to make repairs on the _Huntress_ and rebuild your diminished fleet will tear an immense hole into our budget."

Hux wants to punch him in his smug face.

"I agree with Director Felix," interjects General Vakim Frumentar, head of the First Order Security Bureau, his grey, sagging face looking like a wax mask through the hologram. "We have lost much while fighting the Resistance and during the Starkiller debacle. Maybe a more subtle approach is in order now. The profit generated by selling ore and other resources should be invested in building diplomatic relations where we can, and infiltrate the factions where that approach fails. We have infiltrated the New Republic before, we can do it again."

Frumentar has always been a coward. He would have been content with buying off politicians and officials for the rest of his pathetic life, confident that his network of spies and mercenaries was enough to rule over an entire galaxy, and then act surprised the moment it all came tumbling down around him.

"Need I remind you, General Frumentar, that all your bribery and attempts at diplomacy didn't deter the New Republic from financing and outfitting an army in secret? The very Resistance army that attacked Starkiller Base? And need I also remind you that it was _my_ army that destroyed their  hidden base? My army that hunted them through hyperspace and destroyed their ships, leaving only a handful of survivors?" Hux says, his hands neatly folded in front of him, back ramrod straight as he stares at the other man.

Frumentar sputters and Hux is sure he’s red up to the tips of his ears; it’s hard to tell with the less than ideal reception.

"Nobody here denies that it has been thanks to your efforts that the Resistance is all but wiped out," Admiral Julia Agrippina says, making it sound like she’s denying exactly that. "But at what cost? Most of the fleet has been destroyed and Supreme Leader Snoke is dead, murdered by a Force-user of the Resistance if what you told us is true."

Hux forces himself to hold her steel-blue gaze, though the temptation to throw Kylo a look amounting to the visual equivalent of a smug _I told you so_ is strong.

Instead, he leans forward, unblinking and cold as he speaks.

"Do you doubt my words or those of Supreme Leader Kylo Ren?" he asks.

Agrippina is a shrewd woman and not easily intimidated but the reminder that their new leader is among them humbles her. It's obvious they all have become a little too comfortable with Snoke remaining inside his fortress of a ship, relaying his commands through Hux, whom they have always regarded with contempt. He’s too young, too inexperienced, too fanatic, too much of a bastard. The reasons are numerous and all equally unsubstantiated.

Her gaze flickers to Ren, taking in his bulk and the murderous glint in his eyes, and she quickly reconsiders.

"I don't. We have received your report and the forensic investigation has confirmed what you already told us."

Of course it has, Hux thinks, a mixture of smug satisfaction and contempt for Agrippina for being so easily fooled surging through his veins. Naturally, he had the forensic reports forged.

Agrippina pauses and Hux can see her throat working in preparation for what she is about to say next.

"But even so, we have no evidence that Leader Snoke would have appointed Lord Ren as his successor. No preparations have been made for his premature death, no testament or comparable documents."

The ensuing silence is deafening, so omniferous Hux can hear his own blood rushing in his ears.

Most attendees stare at Agrippina’s projection in shock, mouths hanging open, incapable of hiding their astonishment. Even Hux can't deny that her brazenness is remarkable and he half expects Ren to lose his already limited temper and choke her across the galaxy; something his famed grandfather had allegedly been capable of.

Nothing of the sort happens and Hux doesn't know if he should be disappointed or relieved. He has never liked Agrippina and her tendency to bring every decision of his into question. A lesson in humility would have done her good.

But Ren remains motionless in his seat, looking far too big for the elegantly designed chair, and sizes Agrippina up from underneath a fan of dark hair. After his and Ren’s little fight, he hadn’t bothered to put it up again.

"Do you wish to challenge me for the title of Supreme Leader?" he asks, pulling his fat lower lip in between his teeth before releasing it again with a wet noise.

"Does anybody here wish to do that?" he roars before Agrippina has a chance to answer him.

All but Hux and Agrippina wince, cowering fools that they are.

Callista Blaise is the first to recover but when she opens her mouth to speak no word makes it past her lips, her face comically red as she gasps like a fish deprived of water.

Her struggle is obvious to her colleagues and confusion settles on their faces before it's washed away by a sudden dread Hux cannot comprehend.

They struggle for air, clutching at their throats and their eyes grow wider with every second longer they’re deprived of precious oxygen. Only then does Hux realise what Ren is doing. He whirls around, staring at Ren in horror.

 _Enough_ , he screams inside his head.

He’s ignored, even though there’s no doubt that Ren has heard him.

Hux twitches in his chair, ready to grab hold of Ren and attempt to shake some sense into him when a collective sigh of relief resonates throughout the room.

Pollius Felix is wheezing, an ugly, wet sound, both hands around his throat as he tries to make sense of what has just transpired.

The rest of the Order's command chain isn't much better off. Their holographic projections look terrified, fearful even. With the exception of Agrippina—who endures the invisible force tightening around her neck with stoic calm—clutch helplessly at their necks.

"Remember that the next time you question my command," Ren growls, voice unnaturally dark even without a vocoder. "There’s no place safe for you in all of the galaxy, should you betray me. Not on your ships. Not on your home planets. Not even inside your own heads. Question me again and suffer the consequences."

This, Hux realizes with a shudder, is what Snoke had meant when he claimed to sense unparalleled power in Kylo Ren. A power so overwhelming and all-consuming Hux can taste it on the tip of his tongue as he sucks in the stale air.

There’s no fear in Hux, no anxiety, only a deep hunger that claws at his inside as he turns towards Ren. He knows he's staring but he can't bring himself to turn away, not even when Ren's eyes meet his and all he sees is black fire.

 

* * *

 

Ren storms out of the conference room as soon as Hux calls an official end to the meeting. It concluded predictably quickly after Ren's little demonstration of power and even though they will get everything they have asked for—resources, more men, the promise of a new fleet—it leaves a bitter aftertaste in Hux's mouth.

Julia Agrippina and the others are prideful and prone to holding grudges. Ren has made powerful enemies today. They were quick to swear fealty once they had regained their breaths, but Hux knows too much about the fragility of the human ego to take their oaths at face-value.

Perhaps, there’s a possibility of using this to his advantage. Clearly, a loyal First Order Grand Marshal as the Supreme Leader would be preferable to an uncontrollable Force-User who considers himself above the Order and its cause.

Ren only ever follows his own agenda. Whatever it may be.

Hux discards the idea as soon as it springs to mind. The old bastards would never agree to him on the throne. They can't control him any more than they can control Ren and they know it. Their retaliation, when it comes, will hit Hux just as hard as Ren.

Cursing softly under his breath, Hux collects his datapad and makes his way back to his quarters. He needs sleep; stims and caf can only keep him functioning for so long.

Already dressed down to his regulation jodhpurs and undershirt, he’s interrupted by the beeping of the door's intercom.

"What is it?" he barks.

The door opens to reveal Pollius Felix, no longer in his parade uniform but in the simple attire of a First Order officer. There's a darkening bruise forming around his neck, barely hidden by his collar that fills Hux with no small amount of malicious glee.

"Grand Marshal Hux," Felix intones, his voice less smooth than he probably would have liked. "I have received your requisition list and it left me wondering."

Felix trails off and licks his lips, waiting for Hux to take the bait.

But his patience has already been well-tested by Kylo Ren today and Hux is no longer in the mood for games.

"If you have questions concerning the requested resources you may submit a formal inquiry," he says.

The obvious dismissal doesn’t deter Felix. On the contrary, his grin only widens and he moves closer to Hux in carefully measured strides

"I thought you'd appreciate it more if I asked you personally as to why you need cortosis of all things, considering that it's primarily used to forge anti-lightsaber melee weapons."

That at last gets Hux’s attention. He straightens and fold his hands before his middle, regarding Felix with thinly-veiled contempt. There lies a certain beauty in the tragic comedy that is unfolding before him. Felix looks so eager, so confident that he has just exposed a plot of Hux's making against their new Supreme Leader.

He's right of course, but that knowledge will gain him nothing

Sadistic delight sparks in Hux as he decides to indulge Felix and grant him the illusion of victory, for just so long as it entertains him. Then when he decides that he's had enough he’ll crush Felix like a filthy insect underneath his boot.

"What are you implying, Director?" Hux asks, making sure that an edge of feigned panic creeps into his voice.

Felix latches onto it like a hungry yargh'un. A grin splits his too big mouth as he leers at Hux, eyes lingering on his lips long enough to be considered indecent.

"It's always like that with you, isn't it, Armitage? First you fuck them and then you kill them?"

Hux has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing out loud.

To insinuate that he would sleep with his victims before killing them, like an acklay would mate with their partners before devouring them, was so utterly Felix, Hux could hardly be offended.

"Is that how you justify to yourself that I've risen the ranks so quickly while you were left behind to rot here, on this piece of dirt? A son of Imperial nobility sidelined by a skinny, little thing born out of wedlock?"

It is, but Felix is too prideful to admit it. He's practically frothing at the mouth, fury and desire burning equally hot in his gaze as he steps closer, blatantly invading Hux's space.

"It’s tearing you apart, isn't it?" Hux whispers. "That I’ve never invited you into my bed."

Felix growls but doesn't deny it and if Hux were a lesser man he would have been all but giddy with excitement. This is it, the moment Felix will make his offer, believing Hux willing to do anything to keep him from informing Ren.

Mad fool.

"But you will, won't you?" Felix leers, his breath hot on Hux's skin. "Invite me into your bed?"

Hux hums, fighting down the urge to recoil from Felix's proximity.

"And if I do, will you keep my secret?" he asks in return, hesitant as if he’s truly considering it.

Even without an ounce of Force-sensitivity Hux can feel the desire rolling off Felix in heady waves

"You have my word."

Which means nothing coming from a man like Felix but Hux keeps that thought to himself.

"You can kill the bastard for all I care," Felix adds, chuckling as if he has just made a grandiose joke. "I don't think High Command would mind very much.

Hux allows himself a half-smile, one corner of his mouth tugged upwards as he listens to Felix's rambling.

This is the reason why men like Felix will never hold actual power. All it took so that he'd reveal his true feelings concerning Kylo Ren's leadership was the promise of sex.

"I'm not surprised. Supreme Leader Ren can be a lot to handle," Hux says, putting emphasis on the last word, the lewd implications clear.

Felix's eyes widen, then narrow again and Hux can see his hands twitching with the urge to grab a hold of him.

"Not here, not now," he says and pushes Felix away, one hand flat on his chest.

"Why not?"

Hux wants to kill Felix in the most gruesome ways imaginable. His father had him watch an interrogation of a spy of the Resistance when he was eight years old. They had pulled out the man’s toe and fingernails, cut out the eyes and, when it became obvious that the man wouldn't give up any intel, his tongue. Back then Hux had, to his own embarrassment and his father's disappointment, been nauseous, emptying his stomach right there in the interrogation chamber. Today he can appreciate the artistry that comes with having to keep a victim alive long enough to extract information. Felix deserves a similar treatment for assuming he could ever have Hux like that, but Hux is too pragmatic a person to seriously entertain the thought. It would be too messy.

"There are duties I cannot postpone and Kylo Ren isn’t a patient man. He'll get suspicious if I don't arrive to our debriefing on time," Hux says, hand still on Felix's chest, keeping him at a safe distance.

At the mention of Ren, Felix relents, albeit grudgingly.

"When?" he asks, reminding Hux in no small part of a sulking child.

"Tonight," Hux placates him. "In my quarters. You have the access codes, I assume?"

Felix nods, pathetically eager.

"0100 GST. Don’t be late."

Another nod.

Hux’s smile is a sharp thing that would have served as a last warning if Felix hadn’t been so preoccupied with imagining all the myriad ways in which he wanted to bend Hux to his will.

"Then I will see you tonight, Director. And I don't need to remind you that this conversation has never happened, do I?" he asks and pulls back, bringing some much needed distance between him and Felix.

Despite wearing gloves, he's eager to wash his hands off Felix's filth.

Felix's eyes are bright with anticipation. He lingers for just a moment longer, taking in Hux's body, all that he has desired for so long and believes he will now have.

When he finally turns away, Hux calls after him.

"And Director?" Felix throws him a questioning look over his shoulder. "Please consider my requisition request."

Felix doesn't say anything more but not ten minutes later, Hux's datapad beeps with an incoming message. Felix has approved his entire requisition list, including the shipment of cortosis ore.

It’s almost too easy.

Hux allows himself to revel in that little triumph, lets it warm him on the inside. It's a shame Felix's had to stick his nose in other people’s business. He could have made a useful ally, easy to control and just as easy to satisfy, but with him threatening to divulge one of Hux's secrets to Ren, his fate has been sealed.

With a sigh, Hux pulls off his gloves and drops them in the trashcan in the adjacent bathroom.

Not everything he told Felix has been a lie. He does have another meeting with Ren scheduled and if there’s one thing Ren doesn't like, it’s being made to wait.

 

* * *

 

"I don't require your opinion concerning what transpired during the command meeting," Ren says in lieu of greeting when Hux enters his quarters half an hour later, precisely on time.

"So you are aware that what you did was impulsive, reckless and may have compromised our relations with the other high ranking officers of the First Order? Maybe even permanently damaged them? Splendid," Hux retorts dryly.

He lets his gaze wander and is pleasantly surprised by the sight that greets him: for once, Ren has left his rooms intact. It’s only a small consolation considering what damage he might have done in the conference room but under the circumstances Hux will take what he can get.

Ren offers only a half-hearted glare in reply to Hux's taunting. He’s sitting in a velveteen chair, part of a set of two. He has showered, the tips of his hair still wet. Hux wouldn’t have pegged him for the kind of man to prefer water over sonic showers.

"They're poisonous snakes," Ren growls, referring to High Command.

"They are," Hux agrees and sits down opposite Ren, one leg crossed over the other. "But the Order needs them. It needs their expertise, their contacts and their resources. _You_ need them. And you'd do well to remember that the next time you’re overcome with the sudden desire to choke them half to death."

"They could always be replaced," Ren argues.

"Of course, just as you could have replaced me and yet..." Hux trails off, leaving the rest unsaid.

"Because you claimed to be useful."

"Because I _am_ useful," Hux hisses. "And so are they."

"I'll take it into consideration next time they imply I'm unfit to be their leader," Ren grumbles and Hux hides a small, disbelieving snarl behind his bare hand. Such startling lack of self-awareness shouldn’t surprise him, coming from Ren.

"There are instances where it's necessary to weed out the weak though," Hux allows after some consideration.

Ren raises a brow in question and Hux takes it as permission to continue.

"Pollius Felix propositioned me after the board meeting."

"He propositioned you?"

"For sex, yes."

The expression of mild irritation that has formed on Ren's face after the mention of Pollius Felix transforms into one of disgust and, if Hux is not mistaken, juvenile embarrassment. The tips of his too large ears, peeking out from underneath his wet hair, are a tell-tale red.

"And why do you think I'd care whether or not scum like Felix propositioned you?"

"Because he insinuated that I should kill you,” Hux replies slowly. “And that it would find the approval of High Command. They might even make me their next Supreme Leader; all I need to do is get rid of you."

A lie. Agrippina and the others would never agree upon him on the throne. They would put him on trial for high treason if he managed, against all odds, to murder Ren. And then have him executed before fighting amongst themselves for the title of Supreme Leader. He’d be nothing but a scapegoat.

"Felix hates you," Ren ponders and for a moment Hux fears that his suspicions are great enough to attempt a forceful foray into Hux's head to extract the truth. After a breathless second in which he feels nothing and his mind remains very much his own, he relaxes again.

"Why would he speak of treason to you of all people?" Ren asks, ignorant of Hux’s momentary distress.

"Isn't it obvious?” Hux is quick to explain. “It's common knowledge that we despise each other. One can't blame Felix for believing I would jump at the chance to slide a knife between your ribs. Especially after you’ve made enemies of pretty much the entire command chain in the span of just a few hours."

Ren has the good grace to look abashed.

"What did you tell him?" he asks in an entirely unsubtle attempt to redirect the conversation back to Pollius Felix.

"I agreed to let him fuck me," Hux says casually.

The combination of confusion and anger on Ren's face is a thing of beauty. Raw and unhinged, his leather gloves scrunching as he clenches and unclenches his fists, eyes gleaming black with indignation. That Hux would debase himself in such a way, for a man so far below his own status.

"At 0100 GST, in my quarters. I have scheduled the shuttle to return to the _Huntress_ at 2000 GST. It’s 1543 GST, thus giving us ample time." Hux says and then, as if in afterthought: “We’d be gone long before anybody will find him.”

Understanding replaces anger and disgust, and Hux is somewhat pleased to see that Ren isn’t as dense as Hux, at times, suspects him to be.

"You have a plan."

"A plan that involves you," Hux admits. "How strong are your mind controlling powers?"

Ren hesitates, eyeing Hux with wariness. The unasked question on the tip of his tongue hangs heavily between them.

_Why not take them up on their offer and get rid of me, whom you despise so fiercely?_

There’s no love lost between them, no loyalty, but Hux has always coveted power above all else. And who in the galaxy is more powerful than Kylo Ren?

“Because between you and Felix, I prefer to stand with the obvious victor.”

Ren stares at him, assessing him. Hux holds his gaze without blinking.

“State your plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Feel free to scream at me in the comments or on [tumblr](http://staticraining.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/StaticRaining)
> 
> First person to tell me which TV show I referenced in this chapter gets a sneak peek at chapter IV.


	4. Wicked Delights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected fight. Unwelcome guests. And the taste of blood inside his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Added Tags:** Sparring, First Kiss, Non-Consensual Kissing, Knights of Ren, Minor Character Death
> 
> A huge thank you to all the people who took the time to read and comment on the last chapter! Your support means everything to me!

IV

  


Hux is nothing short of delighted.

When put to good use Ren's powers are exceptionally useful.

They're in Hux's rooms enjoying the footage of Pollius Felix getting his brains blown out.

"Remarkable," Hux allows, referring to the ease with which Ren has penetrated the mind of one of the stormtroopers of Felix's personal guard, crushed it, and then bent the sorry remains to his will.

It's a shame they don't have a better angle, Hux would have liked to see more of Felix's dumbfounded expression at finding not Hux in his bed, waiting to be ravaged, but his own guard with their blaster drawn.

"It was nothing," Ren grumbles, but there’s an underlying tinge of pleasure at being praised so.

"Forcing him to kill himself would have been easier," Hux argues for argument’s sake.

"You can't force an individual to do something against their sense of self-preservation," Ren explains, mouth pulled into a pout.

Hux smirks, equally amused by Ren’s childish petulance and Felix’s blood painting the walls of his suite a vivid red on the holo-screen.

"Isn't killing your superior an act going directly against your sense of self-preservation?" he prods further.

Ren turns to Hux, his youthful face cast in shadows.

"Only if you think your survival is directly linked to their own. If you believe their death holds a bigger advantage..."

Ren trails off and shrugs.

"The First Order is full of opportunists," Hux concludes and rewinds to a particularly gruesome scene.

He can feel Ren's questioning gaze on him but doesn't let it distract him.

This is his long overdue triumph over Pollius Felix. Not seeing him for years had mellowed his hostile feelings concerning the man slightly, but upon meeting him again the old abhorrence had returned tenfold.

"What about the stormtrooper?" Ren asks.

"He has been taken care of. I have had some incriminating evidence planted in his datapad prior to you brainwashing him. Once they find the surveillance footage and Felix's corpse, he’ll stand trial and will be executed for his crimes."

Ren's staring is slowly but surely starting to grate on his nerves and Hux turns to call him out on it when he finds himself in unexpected proximity to the man.

"Not too long ago you’ve lectured me on Felix's usefulness. Now you're standing here, enjoying his demise over and over again."

Hux's lips twitch in the semblance of a smile.

"Do you remember the woman that was part of our welcome committee here on Pressy's Tumble?" he asks.

Ren thinks for a moment, then nods slowly.

"His assistant."

"Yes," Hux agrees. "But also his younger sister. Just as well connected but undoubtedly more intelligent and not tied down by silly notions of familiar bonds or loyalty. She only knows loyalty to the First Order. It’s fortunate that she despised Felix. I have already put in a recommendation to have her promoted to Head of the Facility."

"You’re enjoying this," Ren says. It isn’t an accusation, merely curiosity. 

He’s too close for comfort and Hux shivers when Ren’s warm breath ghosts over his skin. He smells of ash and, inexplicably, of shuura fruit.

"We both enjoy carnage," Hux argues and hurries past Ren, to his working desk where he produces a cigarra from one of the drawers. He doesn't offer one to Ren. "You only have a more direct, and dare I say, messier approach."

Hux lights the cigarra and takes a deep drag, lets the smoke slide down his throat and swirl in his lungs before exhaling.

"It's cowardly," Ren says and crunches up his nose when Hux blows another cloud of smoke in his direction.

"Would you have preferred it if I had met Felix as agreed and then stabbed him to death in his own bed?"

Hux smirks but the smile falls from his lips as soon as he notices Ren's expression.

He looks...predatory.

"Yes,” Ren admits, voice a velvet drawl, “I think I would've preferred that."

Hux can't get the smell of shuura fruit out of his nose.

  


* * *

  


Ren excuses himself soon after, not explaining where he has to be all of the sudden but Hux doesn’t care enough to ask, still somewhat distraught.

The tension between them has been strange as of late, suffocating and unlike the quiet, murderous rage he is accustomed to when usually dealing with Ren. Hux huffs, and stubs out his half-smoked cigarra in the ashtray on his desk.

Pushing Ren to the farthest corner of his mind, he goes to work. Now that they have the resources they need, they can start the necessary repairs on the  _ Huntress  _ and rebuild their fleet.

With the materials from Pressy's Tumble and the parts they salvaged from the  _ Supremacy  _ it shouldn’t take them longer than a few cycles before the  _ Huntress  _ is fully operational again.

Their lack of personnel is another problem Hux has yet to find a solution to. Many of those who died in the battle against the Republic had been young and eager to serve the First Order, indoctrinated from birth and exceptionally trained.

They hardly have the time to wait until the next generation of loyal subordinates has reached an agreeable age for the service on a star destroyer.

Luckily, after experiencing Ren's incredible powers firsthand, head of the Cadet Training Programme on the  _ Golden Dawn, _ Callista Blaise, was all too eager to transfer her most promising recruits to serve on the  _ Huntress _ . 

They will do for now, Hux decides after looking through every personal file of every single aspirant. Only until their own training program is fully functional again, of course.

He doesn't trust Blaise or her men any more than he trusted Pollius Felix.

Hux has just discussed the last details of the junior officers’ employment at the  _ Huntress  _ with Blaise—via datapad messages, her voice doesn't quite obey her yet—when a red alarm interrupts his dry but necessary correspondence with Blaise.

Furrowing his brows, Hux opens the insistently flashing message.

It’s from Cozcar, precise and to the point.

_ “Patient has regained consciousness _ .”

  


* * *

  


"Out!" he barks as soon as he sets foot in the medical bay.

One of the medical officers opens his mouth to argue, but Cozcar, who is standing next to him, is quick to throw him a look that shuts the man right up. He leaves, along with the rest of the medical staff and medical droids, with his head held low, careful not to look at Hux.

"The captain is awake and receptive. And pissed, if I may say so."

The corners of Hux's mouth twitch in semblance of a smile.

"Noted. Thank you. You’re dismissed."

Cozcar leaves with a curt nod and a last look over her shoulder that Hux can feel on the back of his neck.

He waits until the sliding doors close behind him, then walks over to where he knows Phasma is waiting behind the heavy curtains.

The mask is the first thing Hux notices when he pulls the curtains back and moves to stand before Phasma's bed. It's nondescript, white and smooth, with only two small slits for the eyes.

Phasma's glare is piercing cold, yet alight with righteous fury.

Hux smiles.

"Captain," he inclines his head and sits down in a chair next to her bed. "It's good to have you back with us."

Phasma wears one of the standard-issue medical gowns, white as well, with short sleeves that leave her muscular arms exposed.

The newly grafted skin is still pink in places but looks healthy otherwise. Cozcar has done remarkable work and once more Hux feels a pang of regret at her inevitable death.

"What happened?" Phasma asks, her voice so different when not filtered through the vocoder of her helmet. Softer, more feminine. Hux has no doubt that she hates it.

"We have lost much of our fleet, most of our ground troops, the  _ Supremacy  _ is gone and so is Supreme Leader Snoke," Hux says, summarising the events of the last weeks with as much detachment as he can muster.

At the mention of Snoke's death Phasma shifts, her eyes widening, though the movement is barely noticeable.

"No," Hux is quick to clear things up. "Kylo Ren is our new Supreme Leader."

"Kylo Ren?"

Though Phasma, along with Ren and Hux himself, used to be part of the ruling triumvirate of the First Order, she has never cared much for the knight enforcer.

Of course, she was aware of the animosity between him and Ren but had always been too preoccupied with the training of her stormtroopers to do more than comment on their petty squabbles with petty amusement from time to time.

"Yes," Hux confirms, as much as it pains him to admit it.

Hux can't blame Phasma for assuming that, given Snoke's sudden and unexpected demise, he would have taken advantage of the ensuring chaos and seized the throne for himself. She knows him well, him and his aspirations.

He settles for: "It's a long story."

"I've been told I'll have to remain in bed for at least another two cycles. I have time," Phasma says.

She’s a Captain of the First Order, head of the stormtrooper training programme and closest to what Hux has to a confidant. He owes her this much.

"Very well," he relents and laces his fingers together.

Phasma listens with usual attentiveness as he recounts the events of the last few cycles, taking in every new piece of information with the comforting stoicism Hux is accustomed to.

Hux can tell she's as displeased with the developments as he is, albeit for different reasons.

The prospect of Kylo Ren as their Supreme Leader doesn't seem to disconcert her half as much as Hux. And why should it? Ren has never questioned  _ her  _ competence.

No, her displeasure stems from other sources.

"Those casualties will set us back for weeks," she grumbles after Hux has meticulously listed every loss they have suffered in their fight against the Resistance and on Crait.

"Unfortunately," Hux coincides. "Luckily, General Callista Blaise has agreed to transfer several battalions of her own troops. I want you to oversee those troops and make sure that they are up to our standard."

Phasma's expression behind the mask is unreadable but Hux doesn't need to see her face to know that she's eager to return back to active duty.

“Blaise's training programme is inadequate,” she says.

“I'm aware,” Hux agrees, “which is why I want you to whip those men and women into shape. I ask for nothing less than perfection."

"I deliver nothing else."

Hux smiles and inclines his head in a rare gesture of respect.

"I know. Which is why I took it upon myself to commission a little something that will hopefully convey my gratitude for your services."

He hands Phasma his datapad. She takes it without hesitation but her eyes narrow in obvious question.

"Sir?" she asks after one look at the bright screen.

"I have had it commissioned after a salvaging mission to the Supremacy. It's coated in a special alloy of chromium and titanium. Not quite as fetching as a pure chromium plating, I admit, but arguably more effective," Hux says with no little pride.

The customized stormtrooper armor is not unlike Phasma's previous one—polished to a shine and with a cape in the reds and blacks of the Order—but the color of the metal is deeper, closer to a charcoal gray than silver chrome, due to the content of titanium in the coating. Additionally to the protection against blaster fire and radiation it should also provide a better defense against energy weapons and, to some extent, lightsabers.

With the mask, Hux can’t be entirely sure but he believes to detect a note of pleased gratitude when Phasma, after handing back his datapad, finally replies.

"I will put it to good use."

"I have no doubt about that."

An incoming message on his communicator interrupts the easy conversation and Hux's face sours when he sees who sent it.

"Apologies but I'll have to take my leave," he says and smoothes out a crease in his greatcoat as he stands. "It seems, Supreme Leader Ren has taken it into his head that I'm his personal errand boy."

Phasma doesn't reply but she doesn't have to for Hux to know what she's thinking. She's amused and not at all surprised.

"A bit of sympathy would be appreciated," Hux says, lips pursed.

"I fear you’re asking the wrong person if you’re looking for sympathy, General." she says and tilts her head, eyes sparkling with good humor. 

"It's Grand Marshal, actually," Hux casually corrects her and leaves without waiting for a reaction.

  


* * *

  


Ren's message had been as short as it had been cryptical, causing no small amount of irritation for Hux.

_ "Training bay 11. 2200 GST. Casual attire. Don't be late." _

Hux scoffs as he reads the message for the third time, practically hearing Ren mutter the order in his deep baritone.

Another training session to impress the men? And he expects Hux to watch him alongside the adoring masses? Unlike Ren, he has an actual ship to run, operations to plan, meetings to attend. Watching Ren sweat and groan like an animal isn't exactly high on his list of priorities.

In the end, he opts for a pair of regulation jodhpurs and a tank top, combined with his knee-high boots—polished to a shine of course, casual attire is no excuse for negligence—and leather gloves.

Contrary to his expectations training bay 11 is empty when he arrives there at 2200 GTS sharp.

Only Ren is waiting for him, dressed in simple trousers and a black tank top not unlike Hux's own. He holds a vibro-sword and the blade sings when he swings it in lazy circles.

"You requested to meet me here, Supreme Leader?" Hux asks and tries not to let his irritation show.

"No," Ren says, not deigning to look at Hux. "I didn't request it. I ordered it."

He sounds unconcerned, unbothered even by Hux's little demonstration of disrespect. Not too long ago, such behavior would have sent him into a frenzy.

Preposterous as the thought sounds in Hux's own head, he can't deny that Ren is slowly but surely coming into his skin as Supreme Leader.

The troopers still fear him and always will, as their primitive survival instinct compels them to when faced with an apex predator such as Ren but, unlike before, they also admire him now. Ren's willingness to spar with them like he was just one man among many played no little part in that. As if Ren could ever be just a man.

Even the incident with High Command has worked in Ren's favor. Everybody adores a man who isn't afraid to stick it to the big man. At least according to the unofficial and highly illegal holonet chat rooms of the First Order that Hux frequents occasionally. It's always advisable to know what the plebs are thinking of their higher-ranked officers.

Hux doesn't know for certain if Ren is aware of his somewhat improved reputation. He’s even less certain if Ren has meticulously planned all of this. He hopes this not to be the case. A Kylo Ren in control of his own temper and ingenious enough to manipulate those around him without the use of the Force sounds dangerous indeed.

"Why did you summon me?" Hux asks when Ren makes no move to explain himself.

"You're skilled with daggers and other melee weapons. I want to see how skilled exactly. Take up your weapons."

Hux eyes follow the line of Ren's sight to a weapon rack standing just outside the training ring.

Among the assortment of weapons on the rack, two knives catch Hux’s eye immediately; vibro-blades reminiscent of the pair Snoke's praetorian guard wielded. Only these are pitch-black, down to the sharpened talon blades.

"You want me to spar with you?" Hux asks, incredulous but unable to tear his eyes away from the twin weapons. They're exceptionally beautiful and he wonders where Ren has procured such masterful craftsmanship from.

"I want to know what you're hiding from me," Ren says.

Hux whirls around, leaving the knives untouched.

"I was trained for covert operations and cost-effective combat. I wasn't trained to go head-to-head with a Force-user."

Ren is unimpressed. "Then you'll die here today."

The vibroblade aimed at his middle barely misses Hux and only because his reflexes are not as rusty as he has feared.

He almost trips when jumping back, out of Ren's remarkable range, but finds his footing quickly enough to evade a second, no less brutal attack.

There's no doubt in Hux's mind that Ren could very well kill him if he wished so but with the same inexplicable certainty Hux also knows that this isn't Ren's goal.

He wants a fight. He wants revelations. He wants to lay Hux and his secrets bare. Wants to expose all of him, to plod through and gorge himself on what he finds until he's had his fill.

Insolent, foul man.

Hux bares his teeth in a snarl, hair hanging in his eyes where it has come loose during his struggle to evade Ren's continuous attacks.

Another step back and he's close enough to the rack to make a grab for the knives.

Their combined weight in his hands feels familiar when it shouldn't; the handles fit too well into his palms to be coincidence. They’re perfectly balanced and Hux instinctively knows that they were meant to be his.

He whirls them experimentally and gets into the defensive stance Sloane has taught him when he was nothing but a frightened child. 

A quick, calculating look at Ren reveals that he's...pleased? His red lips are pulled into a faint smile, his eyes two black pits that bore into Hux.

His posture is careless, open and inviting, all but mocking Hux.

Hux blows one particularly stubborn lock of hair out of his eye and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

His attack is impeccable, quick, aimed at Ren's side where he knows the thick scar from the Wookie's bowcaster sits. 

When he stabs out he's met with nothing but thin air. Ren moved away at the last second, all but dancing as he stepped aside.

Hux has barely processed this when he hears the hum of the vibroblade coming down on his back.

A hasty sidestep rescues him but makes him vulnerable to more attacks.

Hux growls, his lungs contracting painfully as he gasps for air. They have barely started and already he can feel his body protesting the strain. It's been too long since he had to face an opponent in open combat.

Ren must be aware of this and he uses it to his advantage. Luckily, Hux predicts the kick before it can connect with his exposed side.

He scrambles to get on his feet again, the grip on his knives still strong and sure. If he wants to have but the slightest of chances to land a proper hit then he needs to get closer to Ren.

It shouldn't be this difficult; Ren is negligent when it comes to his defense, his only strategy seemingly consisting of swinging his vibrosword in a great arch. Hux has to admit it's effective. He will only be able to evade Ren's attacks for so long before fatigue sets in and he'll start making mistakes.

Unacceptable. Hux grits his teeth and charges forward when Ren lifts his sword high above his head.

The knife cuts through flesh like paper and blood wells from the cut underneath Ren's eye. It's clinging to the blade as well, a beautiful contrast on the gleaming black surface.

Ren stutters to a halt as the pain registers.

Euphoria fills Hux, settles right underneath his skin and he can feel his own mouth pull into a grin, razor-sharp and daring.

"I claim first blood," he boasts and swings his knives in lazy circles. They seem to vibrate in his hands, sharing their wielder’s triumphant joy.

Ren's face is slack with disbelief, his body frozen to the spot. Hux could have cut his heart out right there if he wished to.

Slowly, Ren lifts his left hand and wipes off the blood. It leaves a red trail that reminds Hux of the markings worn by the fabled warriors of the Dathomirians.

A hoarse cry works his way up his throat, making Hux shiver and he almost loses a hand as Ren's next attack catches him by surprise.

The unexpected joy at having managed to so much as injure Ren quickly dissipates the next minute.

Ren is merciless, slash after slash raining down on Hux who can do little but evade and avoid, duck and skip.

Molten fire surges through Hux's veins, his heart is beating a painful rhythm against his ribcage and his knees are threatening to give out underneath him, but he still wears that sharp smile.

He doesn't know how long they've been fighting when exhaustion and lack of regular exercise finally take their toll. Another attack leaves him swaying and Ren takes his chance and tackles him to the ground.

Hux can barely breathe with the weight of Ren on top of him, his vibroblade pressed against the sensitive skin of his neck.

They're close. Too close. So close that they're sharing the same breath. Like this, Hux can smell the half-dried blood on Ren's cheek and the sweat collecting in the curves of his collar bones.

Ren's eyes are blown wide, their color that of old gold. If not for the blade on his throat, Hux would have laughed.

He has seen this look before.

"Well," he whispers softly, as if they're sharing a precious, precarious secret, "suddenly Pollius Felix’s desire doesn't seem so absurd anymore, does it?"

Ren pulls away as if burned, a snarl pressing past his clenched teeth that settles uncomfortably in Hux's gut.

He's gone within a heartbeat, leaving Hux lying on the training ring floor, staring at the high ceiling.

"Ha," he huffs and covers his eyes with his forearm, clutching the knife with Ren's blood on it.

He laughs and laughs and laughs, until he's hoarse and the sweat on his skin has dried.

  


* * *

  


After their little bout Ren remains predictably quiet, avoiding Hux as best he can. 

It's a welcome reprieve and Hux chalks it up as a victory. Without Ren constant interference, the rebuilding of their fleet makes good progress. Already the damage to the  _ Huntress'  _ protective plating has been repaired and the additional troops promised by Callista Blaise have arrived on the ship.

Hux had taken it upon himself to inspect the men and women and deemed them passable. There is always room for improvement, of course, but he will leave that in Phasma's capable hands.

Her return to active duty had been met with enthusiasm and fear alike, but that was to be expected. After all, there was a reason it was her likeness on the propaganda posters spread throughout the First Order fleet. Either the troops wanted to be her or wanted to be with her. That fervor and urge to please resulted in unusually motivated recruits that Phasma would drill into the finest soldiers the Order had to offer.

Hux couldn’t possibly disapprove of their eagerness. Phasma cut an impressive figure, even more so in her new armor, with her cape billowing behind her as she accompanied Hux for his inspection.

It should have been Ren inspecting the troops, of course, but Hux rather has him brood in his quarters than endure the awkward silence that no doubt would have occurred between them had Ren decided to do his actual duty for once.

Hux isn’t too concerned with what has transpired during their impromptu duel and he’s under no illusions that Kylo Ren is actually attracted to him.

He's young, not so much in years as in mind, and easily excitable. It's not the first time Hux has seen bloodlust transform into carnal desire in the heat of battle.

It's unlikely Ren has had much opportunity to indulge in his baser desires, having been trained as a Jedi for years before Snoke took him on as an apprentice. Even now, Hux cannot imagine anybody, man, woman or otherwise, to be attracted enough to this sulking, petulant mess of a man to seriously consider sharing a bed with him.

Hux tuts at himself. Kylo Ren's alleged lack of romantic experience isn’t part of his concerns.

There’s a hyperdrive relay in dire need of repairs and a weapons development programme to oversee. He has great plans for the cortosis ore Pollius Felix has so graciously provided.

Hours have passed, spent bend over blueprints and holo-models, when Hux intercom blinks with an incoming call.

"What is it, Captain Mitaka?"

"Apologies, sir, but we have received a request from an unidentified ship to board the  _ Huntress _ ."

Immediately, Hux's mind springs to attention.

"Scanners?" he asks while he gets up and throws his greatcoat over his shoulders.

"Scanners were able to pick up vital signs of six organic lifeforms, human and humanoid xenos, but little else."

Dread settles in Hux's stomach.

"I'm on my way. Did you inform Supreme Leader Ren?"

A small pause before Mitaka's voice comes crackling through the communicator again.

"...no?"

"Good. Keep it at that."

  


* * *

  


His fears prove well-founded when the sleek, small starship of unknown design and origin lands in docking bay two.

This isn’t the first time he has seen this particular ship. No, that had been five years ago, when he was a mere Captain and Kylo Ren was Snoke's newly recruited apprentice.

"Sir?" Mitaka whispers at his side. "How should we proceed? The men are armed and awaiting your command."

"At ease, Captain," Hux says with his hands crossed behind his back. There's tension in the set of his shoulders and at the base of his spine but he can't afford to show open apprehension in front of his men. "There's no need for violence."

Or so he hopes.

Six figures emerge from the ship, clad in black robes, their faces covered by elaborate masks. They’re all too familiar to Hux.

"We’ve been summoned," one of them announces, their voice, amplified by a vocoder, carrying effortlessly through the docking bay.

So rude, Hux thinks with no little disdain, just like their leader.

"I’ve been informed of no such thing," Hux says and steps closer, until he’s chest to chest with the masked knight.

He won't be intimidated.

The knight—their mask is a polished black, forged to resemble an Arkanian dragon, the ventilation shafts forming the teeth—tilts their head, peering down at Hux who barely reaches up to their chin.

It doesn't matter, he's used to being looked down upon.

"Not by usual means," the knight says, softly, as if amused by Hux's ignorance.

"He called through the Force and we heeded his call," another knight interjects. Their voice is a hissing slur, overly nasal. Probably not human.

Hux doesn't doubt the truth of the knight’s words. Of course Ren has summoned his little entourage without informing anybody of their impending arrival. And now he's too busy sulking in his quarters to pick them up.

"I will have him summoned," Hux says and can feel Mitaka tense up next to him, "by a droid."

Predictably, Mitaka relaxes again.

"There's no need, Grand Marshal."

Hux suppresses an exhausted sigh and throws a weary look over his shoulder.

As suspected, it’s Kylo Ren storming into the docking bay. He’s in full battle regalia, lightsaber dangling at his side. More interestingly though, he hasn’t treated the cut underneath his eye, the small line gleaming red in the artificial light. It’s a glaring reminder that Hux did this. He had marked Ren in such a way.

Ren marches past Phasma and Mitaka without acknowledging them but when he reaches Hux his gaze strays and their eyes meet. 

At the arrival of their master the Knights of Ren snap to attention and hurry to get line, bending their knee for their master, the very epitome of discipline and obedience. Hux watches the spectacle with an inquisitively raised brow, wondering how Ren of all people has managed to secure the loyalty of such powerful individuals.

"Rise," Kylo says after a moment of quiet contemplation and Hux is surprised to hear a note of fondness in his dark voice. "There’s much to be done."

"Yes, master," the Knights chant in unison and follow without question when Ren turns on his heels, disappearing to where he has come from without a word of explanation.

"S-sir?" Mitaka whimpers, looking at Hux for guidance.

"Clear the rooms adjacent to the Supreme Leader's chambers and prepare them for our guests."

He spits the word out like an insult.

"Captain Mitaka, you have the bridge. Everybody else, back to your posts."

  


* * *

  


The Knights are expecting him or at least a few of them are, loitering outside Ren's chambers like a couple of particularly gauntly bodyguards.

Hux recognizes the knight with the dragon mask but the other two he can't place. One is squatting on his haunches, occupied with a pair of dice they lazily spin, the other is leaning against the durasteel wall, content with watching Hux and his dice-playing companion. The mask of the knight with the dice is a smooth surface, slightly curved to allow for more comfort, and Hux can see his own reflection mirrored back at him when they lift their head at his arrival.

The third knight wears a mask of a more sophisticated design. It's a skull, not unlike the design of his stormtroopers' helmets, albeit of a charcoal grey color. The upper part is covered with a thin veil of delicate lace that strikes Hux as outlandish in its intricate beauty.

"He told us you'd come," the knight with the dragon mask greets Hux.

He clicks his tongue. "Did he also tell you that I won't be intimidated by his little troupe of freaks? I have business with Kylo Ren. Let me pass."

The noise coming through the vocoder sounds like a pair of crystal bells and Hux realizes with increasing irritation that the knight is laughing at him.

"He said you wouldn't fear us."

"Did he now?" Hux asks before he can think better of it.

It’s certainly a surprise and too close to an actual compliment to truly have been intended as such, considering it came from Ren.

"It's foolish not to fear us," they say and don't bother to hide their amusement.

They tilt their head and the expression of the dragon mask seems to shift and change as if alive. "But you fear our master."

Now that's just preposterous. Hux straightens and something in his expression must have shifted for the knight raises their hands in a placating gesture, their crystal-bell voice soft and apologetic.

"Fear doesn't equal cowardice. You're right to fear him, his power, his temper, the things he can do with but a thought. You fear him but you're not afraid of him. There are but a handful throughout the whole galaxy who can claim such a feat."

“And how is that in any way relevant?”

"Don't you know?" they throw a look over their shoulder, meeting the gazes of the other two knights who have, so far, remained disinterested in the conversation.

Hux has the distinct feeling that they're mocking him, though the masks make it impossible to tell.

"Our master and you. You're a chord echoing through the chaos of the galaxy, substantially different but harmonious when coming together. But you haven't learned how to sing yet. And neither has our master."

“Bantha spew.”

It’s the first time Hux hears the knight with the dice talk but already they have gained his favor by voicing his exact thoughts.

“Not a chord,” the knight grumbles and shakes their head. “Two colliding stars. They’ll burn and burn and burn until there’s nothing left but ashes and despair. They don't call him Starkiller for nothing.”

Hux scrunches up his nose in unconcealed displeasure but the attention has shifted away from him already. There are no words exchanged but even with their masks on Hux can tell that they’re deep in silent conversation. The first two seem to be in disagreement over the nature of his and Ren's relationship and the air is crackling with a tension that makes the pale hairs on Hux's arms stand up.

The third knight doesn't offer their opinion and Hux is grateful for it. He has no desire to listen to any more of their inane, cryptic mumbo jumbo.

"Are you quite done yet?" he asks and all heads turn toward him.

Good.

"I have business to discuss with Ren."

"He will come for you when the time is right," the first knight says, the squabble with their companion forgotten already. "Now he cannot be disturbed."

Hux barely resists the urge to roll his eyes at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. The knights share a predilection for the theatrical with their revered leader, if nothing else.

Frustrating as it is to admit so to himself: there's little Hux can do. The knights answer to Ren only and Hux isn't foolish enough to try and go up against all of the Knights of Ren to force his way inside the Supreme Leader’s quarters.

According to his sources, all of the knights are Force-users and thus to be feared, though the exact nature of their powers remains uncertain. Hux doesn't know if all of them share the gift of mind control with Kylo Ren or if they only know how to wield a lightsaber and deflect a few blaster bolts shot their way.

He certainly has no desire to find out.

His thoughts tumble to a halt when the third knight rises to their feet, the long veil adorning their mask flaying softly even though there is no breeze in the sterile corridors of the  _ Huntress _ .

The skull mask turns toward to him, the bottomless pit of the knight's gaze boring into Hux.

They lift their hands and, in a flurry of motion too quick for Hux’s eyes to follow, sign something to the other two.

Hux raises a brow. He's proficient in the Galactical Sign Language—it's part of the Order's Officers Programme curriculum—but this isn’t any sign language he's familiar with.

"Ourani says you think very loudly," the first knight says. "I agree. It's distracting."

"Then stay out of my head," Hux hisses, a little too defensive.

The dice-player snorts. "We're not inside your head. You Force-nulls are just always so loud."

Hux sends them a scathing glare.

"You want answers," the first knight says, soft and soothing and Hux finds himself immediately placated. The Force, he realizes a moment later and his expression sours.

The knight seems to have noticed his displeasure at being manipulated so and raises their hands in apology.

"I'm willing to give you some of the answers you desire but you must leave now. Your presence here can only do harm."

What other choices does he have? He has already determined that trying to forcefully gain access to Ren's quarters will only end in disaster and if this—he eyes the knight suspiciously—individual is willing to answer at least a few of his questions then he shouldn't look a gift fathier in the mouth.

"Fine," he says, lips pressed into a thin, tight line. "I assume you're already aware of my quarters’ location. I expect you there in 30."

He can feel the knights' eyes on his back as he turns to leave. Like a dog with its tail between its legs, he thinks, the voice in his head sounding like his father’s. 

  


* * *

  


Thirty minutes later there’s a knock on his door and, irritated, Hux stands to open it.

"Is the door's intercom panel not operational?" he asks dryly.

Before him stands the knight in the dragon mask, head tilted.

"Forgive me my old-fashioned ways," they say, good humor evident in their voice.

They step inside Hux's quarters without being properly invited to. Hux decides to ignore that blunder in etiquette and returns the favor by sitting down and not offering his guest a seat.

"I've been promised answers," he says, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs.

"As long as you ask the right questions," the knight returns without missing a beat.

Hux considers them carefully before making his decision.    
  
They move with an effortless grace Kylo Ren could only dream of. There's an aura of curiosity surrounding them and Hux's cold gaze doesn't seem to discomfit them in the slightest as they move through his quarters without an ounce of shame.

"What would you like me to call you?" Hux asks.

"I go by many names and many titles but Kallio will do."

Kallio .  Not a name Hux is familiar with. Certainly not Imperial. Probably not even human.

"Why has Ren summoned you here?"

"You shouldn't call him Ren. We're all Ren." the knight says, admonishing. 

Hux clicks his tongue in dismissal. Ren himself has certainly never objected to Hux calling him by his chosen title.

"You're here for a reason," he says. "I want to know what that reason is."

"That’s not a question, Grand Marshal. That's a command."

Hux considers rephrasing but then the knight does something entirely unexpected and the words die on his tongue.

They take off their mask.

It comes off with a hiss as the hydraulic locks are released and Hux's eyes widen as the knight puts the helmet down on Hux's working desk.

"I know you."

She is older now than she had been in the holovid, naturally, but the intricate tattoos adorning her lekku are unmistakable.

Kallio is the twi'lek that fought Ren in the video transcription Hux had salvaged from the  _ Supremacy _ .

"You trained with Kylo Ren."

Her face is sufficiently attractive for an alien, Hux supposes, and she's easy to smile and laugh. As she’s doing now.

"Indeed, I trained him and with him." She pauses and tilts her head, hand resting on her hip. "Does that surprise you? You seem surprised."

Hux tuts and schools his features into a mask of neutrality.

"It's of no importance."

She isn't so easily fooled.

"You don't think he's one to inspire loyalty.”

"He's volatile, prone to temper tantrums, self-destructive and violent, indifferent to the interests of others."

Kallio doesn't reply immediately, too captivated by the half-empty box of Tarine tea on his desk.

"You're not wrong," she says while picking through the few remaining bags of tea. "But he's more than the sum of his faults. You recognized me. That means you have somehow gained access to Snoke's personal recordings, since I doubt that our master has willingly shared any of his past with you. Have you learned nothing by watching him?" 

"You assume that I wish to know Kylo Ren," Hux argues. "I don't."

"Now that is a lie, isn't it?" she says and winks at him. "You wish to know his weaknesses."

"I'm well aware of his numerous and glaring character faults," Hux says, shifting in his seat.

Kallio unnerves him, more so than even Ren. Where Kylo is predictable in his anger, Kallio remains a bastion of effortless grace. Even worse, her calm confidence and the aura of serenity surrounding her is so strong, Hux can feel it reach out to him, envelope him like a soft blanket and lure him into a false sense of security.

"Kylo was a frightened boy once. Sometimes he's that still. I remember the day he was brought before me, with his cheeks wet from tears and the blood of his fellow padawans drying underneath his fingernails." 

"If you think you can appeal to my sense of compassion then you'll find that I have none to spare for Kylo Ren," Hux says.

He straightens in his seat and curls his left hand into a fist, nails digging into the soft flesh of his palm. Pain can be an anchor, on that at least he and Ren can agree. And he needs to have all his wits about him when dealing with Kallio and her powers.

"There's nothing Kylo wants less than pity, Grand Marshal," Kallio says, unaware of Hux's efforts to collect himself. The Tarine tea is apparently of more interest to her than he is. Almost insulting.

"What is it that he wants?"

Kallio pauses, thin brows furrowed as she turns to look at Hux.

"I think that's a question he's asking himself as well."

"He wants to crush the Resistance," Hux argues, with little conviction.

She shakes her head. "No. That's what you want though, isn't it? Ever since you had to watch the place you used to call home crumble to dust around you."

"What are you talking about?"

"I read your file, Grand Marshal. You were born on Arkanis, 0 BBY. The planet was annexed by the New Republic in 5 BBY."

Hux is not a sentimental man, not by far, and he doesn't waste time mourning the planet that happened to be his birthplace. But he remembers the day the New Republic came to Arkanis and killed many men, killed his father's troopers, the cadets, with startling clarity. He remembers the blood and the stench of death permeating the air. And he remembers his father's hesitation before he grabbed him by his arm and dragged him to the  _ Imperialis _ .

Chaos and disorder, he had learned that day, came in the New Republic’s wake.

He swallows thickly, pushing the memory to the farthest corner of his mind, and looks at Kallio.

She's smiling.

"Order is not what Kylo wants. Retribution and vengeance, those are his foremost motivations."

"How short-sighted," Hux says, once more reminded of how unfit Ren is to lead an organisation such as the First Order.

"Maybe," Kallio allows and shrugs.

"Then why follow him at all?" 

"We are with Kylo Ren because where he goes, destiny follows. There lies power in the path he walks."

She turns, a teabag dangling off her fingers.

"Isn't that why you're with him as well? Because Kylo Ren is power and power is what you crave?"

"Ren is unhinged and incapable of controlling his emotions. What use is all that power if it can't be tamed?"

Even as he speaks he knows that it’s too much, that he's revealing too much. He’s being manipulated, but he finds himself unable to stop.

"Well," Kallio hums, her yellow eyes sparkling with self-complacency, "then it seems all our master needs is somebody to reign him in when the fragile hold he has on his own self threatens to slip."

The implications are clear, she isn’t being subtle, yet Hux can't seem to force his brain to process what has been said.

He glares at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion, as if Kylo Ren himself would burst through the door the moment he admitted to any designs he might have had concerning the man and how to control him.

Hux has no doubts that the knights are loyal to their master and Kallio in particular seems to have a special bond with Ren, what with knowing him for such a long time. Why then would she encourage Hux to try and control him?

Unless that isn’t her intention at all.

She had called them a chord, a harmonious synergy.

Nothing could be further from the truth. All there is between them is dissonance.

Hux resists the urge to rub at his temples in the futile hopes of warding of an impending headache. He can’t afford to look weak in front of Kallio Ren.

Perhaps, this is one of Ren's poorly thought-out plans? Did he instruct Kallio to plant these ideas of subjugation and control inside Hux's head, only for Ren to use it as leverage, as proof of treason so that he can finally get rid of Hux?

No, that makes no sense. Ren needs him to run the Order. The disaster that had been the meeting with High Command proved as much. 

Whatever Kallio's agenda, Hux can't afford to underestimate her. She has a penchant for mind manipulation, if the ease with which she makes Hux amenable to her suggestions and questions is any indication.

Such gentle manipulation is new to him. He has only ever seen Ren use his powers to break the minds of others. With him it was quick, efficient and above all, brutal. With Kallio it felt like a gentle caress.

He has to be careful.

Kallio’s easy laugh pulls him from his circling thoughts and when he looks at her she has already taken her helmet again and puts it on with practised ease. She makes to leave, back turned toward Hux when she falters. The aura of tranquility surrounding her falls away, dissipating like mist at the dawn of a new day.

Hux feels it before he can do so much as open his mouth in question. Like a wave crashing over his head, threatening to devour him, Hux’s lungs constrict and he feels weightless, as if thrown out into the cold infinity of space. He wants to scream, his hands clawing at his throat but no sound would come out. 

It's over as quickly as it has started.

He can breathe again but his ears ring with the echo of a scream that was only in his head.

Both he and Kallio stand in silence. She’s the first to regain her composure and with a quick bow, one hand over her stomach, she makes to leave.

"Thank you for the tea, Grand Marshal,” she says and Hux gasps as realization dawns on him.

"You tricked me," he accuses Kallio.

She has the audacity to wink at him, entirely unaffected by his electric anger. "You were a nuisance. His words, not mine. And we did have a very pleasant conversation, did we not?" 

Hux is tempted to pull his blaster on her and is only deterred by his datapad and intercom going off simultaneously.

"Grand Marshal?" Mitaka's screeching voice greets him when he answers the call.

"Yes, I've felt it. I'll deal with it. Everyone proceed as usual."

He can’t afford mass hysteria.

When he looks up again, Kallio is gone.

  


* * *

  


Predictably, the Knights of Ren are already waiting for him, Kallio among them. Like the sea they part when Hux strides into Ren's quarters, past the unlocked doors.

"What have you done?" he spits without preamble.

As so often these days, Ren is a mess. Hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. He looks more corpse than man.

In his hand he holds the holocron he had previously tried to open with little success. It looks different, somehow softer, its previous color of ruby red that of a warming fire now.

"I did what you told me to," Ren says, mouth pulled into a pout.

That's certainly a first, Hux thinks.

"Leave us," Ren says.

The knights do so silently and without question although Kallio pauses on the way outside as she moves past Hux, her amusement so obvious Hux can taste it on the top of his tongue. She inclines her head in greeting or good-bye, Hux can't be certain. He ignores her.

When the knights are gone, it's Hux who speaks first.

"Now will you tell me what this is all about?" he hisses, proper title and address be damned.

"Your idea held some merit," Ren says, rolling the cube in his hand. It looks like a child's toy in his massive palm and Hux swallows thickly. "It was impossible to open alone but with my knights I was able to attune my Force signature to that of Snoke, at least partially. Leaving a tiny crack in the surface that allowed me to break it open."

Hux raises a brow.

"Is that what happened? You opened this...box and nearly suffocated every trooper on this ship in the process?"

Ren glares at him from underneath his fan of black, unwashed hair.

"It wasn't me. It was the holocron. When it bent to our combined wills it released a Force wave powerful enough that even you could feel it, Force-insensitive that you are."

Hux ignores the obvious slight.

"A defense mechanism?" he asks.

Ren's eyes widen and Hux suppresses the urge to huff at him. He may not be a Force-user but he's not stupid.

"Yes," Ren agrees tentatively. "Strong enough to kill everyone attempting to open it and those in the vicinity."

Hux clicks his tongue in disdain.

"You risked the life of every single one of our subordinates to crack open a magical cube? Need I remind you that we're operating with only a third of our usual manpower at the moment, Supreme Leader?"

"And I would have risked a million more if that is what would have been needed, Grand Marshal," Ren growls.

"You're insane," Hux hisses, his anger laced with mortification. "Nothing in that twice-damned cube could have been worth the lives of thousands of excellently trained soldiers."

Ren slams the holocron down on the only table, the glass surface cracking underneath his brute strength.

"All your soldiers were not enough to annihilate the Resistance but with this I will find them and I will wipe them out!" he screams in Hux’s face, the veins in his neck standing out like thick cords.

"You and which army?" Hux spits. He can feel his face heat up, the collar of his uniform suddenly too tight and restricting. "Or will you march into wherever it is they're hiding, all on your own, like you did with Skywalker?"

Ren's face darkens and Hux laughs. It's a cruel, cutting sound.

"Oh yes, I can see it before me: the great, powerful Kylo Ren defeated once more by the Resistance. What will it be this time? Another hologram? Or another skinny girl who has never held a lightsaber before? Maybe this time you'll be bested by a tooka!"

The air is knocked out of him with such force, his teeth rattle in his mouth.

He tries to swallow but the forearm pressed against his larynx makes it impossible.

The room is spinning, he's pretty sure that's the ceiling he's staring at, and he cannot feel the ground underneath his feet.

Panic claws at his constricted throat.

"Ren..." he moans, fully aware of how pathetic he sounds. Like he's begging.

The pressure of Ren's forearm against his throat lessens marginally and Hux sucks in much needed air.

The mass of Ren's body alone keeps Hux upright, pressed so tightly against his own Hux fears he might break a few bones.

Ren doesn't say anything, the silence more disconcerting than any words could have been. All that echoes in Hux's ears are the man's ragged breaths.

Their gazes meet and Hux wonders how he could have ever thought of Kylo Ren as human. What's staring back at him is a beast, eyes darting back and forth as they take in the naked desperation on Hux's face.

He's squirming in Ren's hold, desperate to be free, when he feels it.

Ren is aroused. The prodding sensation against Hux's thigh unmistakably.

Hux's eyes widen.

"You disgusting, vile man," he groans, voice on the verge of breaking.

And then Ren is kissing him.

He kisses like he fights. Of course he does. Simple attacks, domination through aggression, no shame in using his physical strength to his advantage. A complete lack of refinement.

Briefly, he wonders if Ren has never kissed before or if this clumsy attempt is just another of Ren's numerous ways to show Hux how little he respects him. That even when kissing Hux he can't be bothered to make it worthwhile.

Their mouths don’t fit together and Hux hisses when Ren's sharp teeth cut into his upper lip. It’s too much. Too much of everything. Teeth. Spit. Tongue. When Kylo forces his way inside Hux's mouth, he can taste shuuga fruit. He bites down hard enough to draw blood, hoping to fill his mouth with a more familiar flavor but even Ren’s blood tastes foul and too sweet.

The press against his throat is lifted but breathing doesn't become any easier. Ren is unrelenting in his eagerness to devour Hux. His lips are soft but he doesn't know how to use them in any manner that could be considered enjoyable.

Ren is sweating inside his robes, the stench assaulting Hux's senses, and the obvious tent in his pants remains an irritating pressure against Hux's thigh.

Held up against the wall, Hux's can do little but tear and bite at Ren until both their lower faces are smeared with blood. Mostly Ren's. Some of it Hux’s own.

Ren moans and whimpers at every bite, gasping into Hux's open mouth until he has to pull away for air.

He doesn't let go of Hux, still crowding him with his overgrown body and leaving him no room to escape. But at least he has the sense to lower Hux to the ground again—suspiciously gentle—so that he can stand on his own two feet.

Coward that Ren is, he doesn't look at Hux. Instead he presses his face into the crook of Hux's neck, mouthing at what little skin he can reach above the collar. His hands are on either side of Hux's face, balled into shaking fists to keep himself from touching him.

As if his hands could be somehow more offensive to Hux than the wet, slippery tongue of Ren inside his mouth.

Silence settles over them like a shroud, the only sounds that of Ren's heavy breathing and the soft rustle of their clothes when he tentatively rolls his hips to rub against Hux's thigh.

"Unhand me," Hux says, staring at the opposite wall while Ren is rutting against him still.

Ren halts, hesitates, then does as he has been told.

Hux forces himself to look at him. There’s blood on his lips, smeared around his chin and cheeks, some marks in the shape of Hux's own mouth. Hux supposes he looks little better.

He half expects Ren to wipe away the memory of this encounter with a careless wave of his hand but he does nothing of the sort.

Standing there, brows furrowed, lips swollen and red, Kylo Ren looks lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Feel free to scream at me in the comments or on [tumblr](http://staticraining.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/StaticRaining)


	5. Thunderous Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's destined for greatness. Not by birth but by his own design. He has clawed and torn and bitten his way out of the unfortunate circumstances of his own birth. A weak, pathetic child afraid of his own reflection that would rise to become one of the most feared men in the galaxy. Starkiller. Destroyer of Worlds. Emperor. And nobody would remember the little boy who cried when he was taken from the only home he ever knew to ascend to the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) for whipping this whole thing into shape.
> 
> And thank you, [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for holding my hand throughout all of this and saving me from more mental breakdowns than I could count.
> 
> All of you who took the time to read and comment: I love you.  
> 

V

 

"Will that be all, Supreme Leader?" he asks.

Ren keeps his head lowered, his fingers pulling at his lips until the leather of his gloves is stained with blood. He doesn’t say a word.

Irritated, Hux opens his mouth to ask a second time but closes it with a snap when Ren nods. It’s but a twitch of his head, barely noticeable but it's enough for Hux.

He leaves, rushing to his quarters without looking back and only when the durasteel doors slide shut behind him does he dare to breathe.

His fingers are trembling when he looks down at them in horrified fascination. He pulls off his gloves, then his coat and boots and socks, stumbling into his refresher on naked feet.

The reflection greeting him in the mirror is that of the scared, little boy who should have died years ago and with a disgusted grunt, Hux pulls away. He sheds the last of his clothes in a frantic hurry and almost slips when he steps underneath the water-based shower.

The hot water is a soothing balm on his bruised skin and Hux watches in silent fascination as the water flushing down the drain turns red, then pink and finally clears, taking with it the proof of what has just transpired between him and Kylo Ren.

His burst lip stings where he licks at it. Hux relishes the pain. It grounds him, anchors him in the here and now, clears his mind and allows him to analyze the recent events more rationally.

Ren has kissed him, if one could go so far as to call the brutal clash of their mouths a kiss.

Ren desires him.

Hux furrows his brows and wipes a few stray drops of water out of his eyes.

An unexpected development to say the least. Hux did not think that Ren could feel such basic urges, let alone sink so low as to act upon them.

The pure strength Ren demonstrated when holding Hux down and forcing himself upon him had been terrifying. Even more so since Ren didn't need his Force powers to keep Hux pinned to the wall like an insect. 

He turns off the shower and steps out of the fresher, rubbing himself dry until his skin feels raw. A look in the mirror reveals that the bleeding has stopped but his lips are still red and swollen. Anybody seeing him like this would inevitably come to the conclusion that the Grand Marshal has engaged in some base carnal activities with one of the crew members stationed on the ship.

Hux sighs and brushes a strand of hair out of his face. He can't report for duty on the bridge looking like this. He'll need to reschedule his shifts. Trust Ren to make his life as complicated as possible.

More frustrating still: he has yet to learn what it was that Ren and his knights had found when they broke open Snoke's holocron and callously threw the whole crew of the  _ Huntress  _ into turmoil.

Whatever could be said about the quality of the kiss, it certainly distracted Hux from asking any further questions.

As much as he abhorred Ren's body anywhere near his own, Hux can't deny the possibilities that come with the Supreme Leader’s newfound physical obsession with him. 

Contrary to the rumors Pollius Felix and the other cadets used to spread on the  _ Eclipse _ , Hux has never needed to use his body to acquire what he wanted. And he has no intentions of becoming the Supreme Leader's plaything in exchange for his own guaranteed survival. Hux doubts Ren would show him more mercy than any other common whore anyway. But there lies opportunity in Ren's ill-mannered attempts at seduction.

Hux is uncertain as to what constitutes this opportunity but he isn't the First Order's top strategist for nothing. He will find a way to use it to his advantage.

When he puts on a fresh uniform—the smell of detergent comforting in its familiarity—his hands have stopped shaking. His lip still stings but Hux disregards it easily and sits down on his working desk where countless of blueprints for another hyperspace tracking device are already laid out.

He has work to do and not even Kylo Ren will keep him from seeing it finished.

And if his fingers find their way to his abused lips more often than he would have liked, tracing the miniscule wounds Kylo Ren's teeth have left there, then nobody is there to witness it.

 

* * *

 

An incoming message on his personal datapad tears Hux away from his musings over how to best incorporate the data they have collected from the sorry remains of the last hyperspace tracking relay on the  _ Supremacy _ into his latest design.

A quick look at the chronometer to his left tells him that it has been two hours since his encounter with Ren and he half expects to see his name blinking on screen when he picks up his datapad.

The sender ID is unfamiliar but the message is straightforward and to the point.

_ Grand Marshal Hux, _

_ I have not failed to notice that you’re awake despite this being your resting cycle. Your turmoil is palpable even from this distance. It makes it rather difficult to concentrate on my meditations. Maybe you'd like to clear your mind, for your sake and my own. I have retreated to the observation deck, you're hereby invited to join me if you wish to do so. _

_ Ourani _

It's unexpectedly polite but Hux suspects it's merely an order disguised as an invitation and thus he's inclined to ignore it.

He reads it a second time, stumbling over the name that ends the gentle request. He has heard it before. Kallio had called the knight in the skull mask by that name. They have been mute, if Hux recalls correctly, and considered him to be too loud.

Hux purses his lips.

In the end, he succumbs to his inherent curiosity. The Knights of Ren continue to be a mystery and the thought of such powerful individuals on his ship, individuals he knows nothing to little about, makes his skin crawl.

Every chance he gets to acquire more intel on his unbidden guests he should take.

So he goes, dressed in his regulation uniform sans the coat, and makes sure nobody follows or sees him on his way.

When he arrives on the observation deck Ourani is waiting for him, sitting cross-legged on the bare floor, staring into the vast emptiness of space.

They don't move, not even when Hux comes to a halt next to them, the echo of his boots slowly fading away. It gives him ample opportunity to study the knight more closely.

Their robes are of a wider cut than those of their peers, closer in design to the ceremonial garb of Ithorian priests than then comfortable garments the Jedi used to wear. The fabric is thick and heavy, forcing Ourani to straighten their back even when sitting down, making them look like royalty. 

The black lace veil, covering half of their mask, is a startling contrast in its delicacy, the only softness to an otherwise hard and unrelenting appearance.

Ourani turns their head when Hux, after some contemplation, sits down, legs folded underneath him, hands in his lap.

The veil glitters and sparkles as they move and only then does Hux notice the precious gems sewn into it, forming constellations of stars both known and unknown to him. It's quite beautiful, even a man as pragmatic as he is can't deny that.

The skeleton face sways gentle from one side to the other. It takes him a few confused seconds but then Hux realizes that the knight is laughing.

They raise their hands, fingers forming signs Hux cannot understand.

He signs a simple greeting in return, as well as his name in the Galactic Sign Language.

It's been years since he last had to make use of his knowledge of sign language and he's sure his execution is clumsy and inelegant but it seems he's still capable of getting his point across.

The knight perks up when they recognize Hux’s swaying hand gestures and, shifting a little closer, returns his greeting.

_ A pleasure to properly make your acquaintance, Grand Marshal. I've heard many a tale about you. _

Hux stiffens, upper lip curled in displeasure. Tales of failure and humiliation no doubt if Ren has been the source of them.

_ I've heard only rumors about the famed Knights of Ren. Each more ridiculous than the last, _ he signs back.

He's not sufficiently fluent to transport subtle nuances such as sarcasm with a mere twitch of his fingers but his morose expression should be indication enough.

Ourani doesn't reply immediately, their head still swaying from left to right in that outlandish display of soundless laughter.

They make no move to return the barb, their gaze already drawn back to the star-sprankled eternity stretched out before their eyes.

Hux watches Ourani for some time, contemplating if he should simply speak his mind—he doesn't think Ourani is deaf as well as mute—and ask their intentions for inviting him here.

He doubts it's another setup meant to distract him. What is there to distract him from after all?

Ren is resting—a quick look at the video feed of the cameras Hux has had installed in his rooms confirmed that—and the other knights are under constant surveillance by either Mitaka or Phasma and their loyal entourage of First Order officers.

He almost startles when Ourani moves again. The ornate veil glitters, breaking the artificial light in a rainbow of colors, as they take it off. Following the veil, Ourani's gloved fingers find the pressure locks of their helmet with practiced ease and it comes off with a sharp hiss.

It comes as no surprise. By now Hux thinks of the secretiveness Ren used to make out of his own face as mere theatrics, especially considering how quickly and without fuss two of the Knights of Ren have revealed their faces to him.

Ourani is Chiss; the red eyes and blue skin are unmistakable. Her hair, however, is not the ebony black of her race. It's as white as snow, falling over her back in tightly-braided rows. She must be old to have hair like that and suddenly Hux feels painfully young again.

Little is known of the Chiss. They guard their rites and customs like precious treasure and it’s rare for one of them to stray so far from their own system. Hux has only ever heard of one other Chiss to leave the tight embrace of their homewold in exchange for the even tighter reins of the Empire.

Grand Admiral Thrawn had been Chiss and much of his knowledge of the Unknown Regions had been used to hide the last remnants of the fallen Imperial Navy and reorganize them into the First Order in the depths of the galaxy. Even Hux’s father, believing all lifeforms to be inherently inferior to humans, couldn’t deny Thrawn's brilliance as a military tactician.

Too caught up in his own musings, he misses it when Ourani moves her fingers again. By the time he notices his mistake he has missed most of what she was trying to tell him, catching only the last half of a sentence.

_ -thunderous thoughts disturbing the Force. _

It's not the first time she complains over him being too loud inside his own head.

_ I will not police my thoughts because a nosy Force-user can't keep out of my head _ , he signs back, the movements of his hands sharp and clipped.

Ourani's blue lips curve into a smile.

_ I haven't been inside your head, Grand Marshal. That would have been rude considering that we're your guests here on this ship. You're unknowingly projecting and it's almost impossible for a Force-user not to pick up on it. _

Hux doesn't like the sound of this. He has always prided himself on the tight control he has over his own emotions. The idea that his thoughts pour from him like water from a well is preposterous and, quite honestly, disconcerting.

_ You're misunderstanding _ , Ourani signs, her fingers long and elegant. The fingers of a seamstress.  _ Your thoughts remain your own as long as nobody forcefully breaks into the fortress of your mind. But your emotions, your rage, your anger, your unrest. They're loud and they cut through the Force like a blade made of red light. _

She closes her eyes and tips her head back, the folds of her robe rustling gently with the motion.

_ Something has happened and it sent you into turmoil. _

Unbidden, the memory of Ren's lips moving against his own comes crashing back to the forefront of Hux's mind.

Ourani opens her eyes, looks at him, understanding etched into every line of her regal face.

_ Something happened between you and Kylo. _

Hux does not immediately recognize the signs that make up the man's first name and Ourani, sensing his confusion, signs the individual letters for him.

He would have preferred to stay blessedly ignorant. Just Ren's name is enough to sour his mood further.

_ Nothing happened _ , he insists, his lips pressed into a thin, red line.

Ourani laughs, open-mouthed and soundless.

_ Liar. _

Hux glares at her, a warning in his green eyes that she disregards with a flick of her wrist.

_ I know Kylo well. Knew him when he was Ben Solo still and nothing but a frightened boy. He was already impulsive and reckless back then. Over the years, he grew stronger but not much wiser. _

When she signs, she holds her hands close to her chest, cradling her words like a newborn, a look of fondness on her face that disgusts and intrigues Hux in equal measure.

Despite her words, it's obvious she adores Ren, whom she calls by his chosen name, like Organa never would.

_ Is that meant to placate me? _

Hux has neither patience nor tolerance for excuses. What Ren has done he has done and Hux refuses to dwell on it.

_ Forgiveness is not what I ask of you, nor do I expect it from a man of your disposition. _

A sensible mindset. Hux has always been a man who prided himself on his cold efficiency and rationality. Forgiveness was a concept too closely tied to sentimentality that he would ever allow himself to indulge in it.

_ What is it you ask of me then?  _ he asks, already steeling himself for whatever absurd request Ourani will make of him.

_ Understanding. You're an intelligent man, Grand Marshal. Don't let your dislike for our master cloud your judgement. _

She’s appealing to his vanity, which Hux can respect. And so he indulges her, at least for the moment, and schools his expression into one of mild curiosity.

_ And what is it you want me to understand so badly? _

Her full mouth curls into an indulgent smile.  _ That it’s preferable to have Kylo on your side rather than pitted against you. _

Kallio had expressed similar sentiments, claimed that there’d be a possibility of him and Ren overcoming their differences to work together and usher in a new era for the galaxy.

How quaint, Hux thinks. And how utterly naive. He will not share. He will not tolerate another on the throne that’s rightfully his.

Ourani tilts her head in contemplation, watches him, and for a terrifying moment Hux fears she will reach out and try to touch him.

To his relief, she doesn't, but the intensity of her red gaze feels like a burning caress all in itself.

_ Your future is a bright one, young marshal. Or it could be. Destiny is ever changing but yours holds the possibility of greatness. Do you wish to see? _

Hux raises a brow.

_ See what? _

She laughs, covering her mouth with one hand as she does.

_ Your future of course. I have a particular talent for divination, a unique manifestation of my Force-sensitivity if you will.  _

Hux is willing to accept that there exists a power holding the seams of reality together and that only a selected few can bend it to their will and shape it to their liking. After all, he has seen Kylo Ren use it to crush his enemies easily, as if he was merely pulling the trigger on a blaster.

But predictions of the future? That’s for gullible fools who lose their last credits to a shady fortune teller in a dirty back alley on Nar Shaddaa.

_ Utter nonsense _ , he signs.

_ Is it because you're afright of what you might see? _ Ourani asks, fingers fluttering like Centarian songbirds.

Hux scoffs, his gestures growing more erratic.  _ I'm not interested in cheap mind  tricks. I know what my future holds. _

_ You used to know _ , Ourani argues.  _ When Snoke was still alive and you believed Kylo to be nothing but a dog, easily leashed and tamed. Now you're not so certain any more. _

Anger curls in Hux's belly, and his fingers, twitching with poorly suppressed rage, curl into fists. He folds them in his lap, uncaring if it might be considered rude.

He's destined for greatness. Not by birth but by his own design. He has clawed and torn and bitten his way out of the unfortunate circumstances of his own birth. A weak, pathetic child afraid of his own reflection that would rise to become one of the most feared men in the galaxy. Starkiller. Destroyer of Worlds. Emperor. And nobody would remember the little boy who cried when he was taken from the only home he ever knew to ascend to the stars.

_ That crying boy doesn't cling to you anymore. _

Hux blinks, startled. The voice in his head is not his own. It’s new and familiar all at once, and he knows, instinctively, that it's Ourani speaking to him.

He glares at her.

“Don't,” he warns, uncaring if she can actually hear him.

The foreign presence in his head retreats, caressing the edges of his perception in a silent apology as it pulls back.

_ You wouldn't look at me _ , Ourani signs.

"Because there’s nothing more to say," he hisses, tone biting and final.

There’s a sense of foreboding in the air, a cold breeze that Hux stubbornly ignores as he wills his numb limbs to obey him. He has wasted enough time already.

He can't feel his legs. Can feel nothing past his waist. Hux turns to Ourani, teeth bared in a vicious snarl.

“What have you--"

Quicker than humanly possible, she reaches out, her long fingers pressing in between the empty space of Hux's eyebrows.

Black fireworks explode in the corners of his vision, quickly spreading and swallowing the light until there’s nothing but darkness. Hux feels himself falling, feels his back collide with the hard durasteel floor and his legs sprawl in an undignified tangle underneath him.

His last thought is of Ourani, of how he wants to plunge the blade of his monomolecular knife into her neck. And then he knows no more.

 

* * *

 

It's no surprise he hardly dreams. Dreams occur only in the deepest phases of sleep, when the mind is set free from its wordly inhibitions and Hux can't remember the last time he had the luxury of REM sleep. As a boy, the threat of punishment for oversleeping had always loomed over his head, keeping him on the edge of wakefulness. As an adult, his unique position within the First Order had made it a luxury he could not afford.

But he’s dreaming now. Of an obsidian circlet crafted in the deep forges of Mustafar set upon a burning head, the flames wrapped around the shining material like a wreath of laurel. He dreams of hands dripping with gold like blood. Feels leather-clad fingers circle his hips and make his skin sing with pleasure. He hears the dying screams of millions, a tune that ebbs and flows like a tidal wave. Smells ash and tastes it on the tip of his tongue as it rains down on him in thick flakes.

When Hux comes to himself again he’s in his own chambers, a silent scream lodged in the back of his throat. Sweat makes his hair cling to his temples and forehead and despite the air conditioning set to the standard temperature of 22.6°C he's shivering.

"Lights to 40%."

He stumbles out of bed as soon as his eyes have adjusted to the sudden brightness. A quick look at his body reveals that somebody must have stripped him down to his underwear before placing him in bed.

Hux swallows the shame and humiliation crawling up his windpipe at the thought of somebody, anybody seeing him in such a vulnerable state and sets out to search for his clothes.

He finds his uniform in a neatly folded pile on his ice-blue couch and puts it on with quick, precise movements. By the time he's fully dressed, smoothening down the front of his uniform and enjoying the familiar feeling of the finely-woven texture underneath his fingertips, anger has replaced his initial humiliation.

What that woman has done is nothing short of assault and every other person foolish enough to lay hand on a Grand Marshal of the First Order would have been court-martialed and sentenced to death for such an offense. But she isn’t part of the First Order, is she? And Ren would never allow Hux to cast judgement over one of his henchman no matter what they had done.

Hux grinds his teeth in frustration, his head pounding with the after-images of the dream that won't stop plaguing his overworked mind. His future will be bright, those were Ourani's words. Even now he can taste the ash in his mouth and feel the phantom weight of a crown on his head.

Why then, did he feel nothing but terror when remembering the smell of blood in his nose and a strong hand closing around his waist in a parody of a lover's caress?

He wills the memory away with a shake of his head, adamant not to let the strange encounter distract him any further. The blueprints for the hyperspace tracking device he plans to have installed on the  _ Huntress  _ are in dire need of revision, his team of engineers eagerly awaiting his next draft. And a silly dream brought forth by a nosy Force-user is no excuse for further delays.

Predictably, the holo-projector propped up on a special pedestal on his working desk lights up with an incoming call within minutes of Hux revisioning his draft.

Hux growls but answers the call dutifully and the miniature holographic figure of Dopheld Mitaka materialises in the half-darkness of the room.

“This better be important, Captain. Anything short of a fatal accident will result in a demotion.”

"S-sir?" Mitaka's voice is wavering, more so than usual and Hux is instantly suspicious. Something isn't right. "Have you heard already? I was just about to inform you."

"Have I heard what?" Hux bites back, more forceful than intended. His patience has been tested one too many times in the last few cycles and has run dangerously thin.

He can hear Mitaka's sharp intake of breath through the connection. It does not bode well for what is about to come next. 

"There has been an accident, Grand Marshal. In medical bay seven. We have several casualties. Chief Medical Officer Ashalis Cozcar is among them.”

Realisation dawns on Hux and he drags a hand down his face in exasperation.

"Is that all, Captain?" he asks after an uncomfortable silence in which Mitaka opens and closes his mouth several times, reminding Hux of a Burra fish out of water. 

"Yes, sir. I have already had the bay sealed off and a containment team was dispatched immediately so that the bay will be operational again as soon as possible."

"It seems you have everything under control, Captain," Hux concludes.

Mitaka preens at the unexpected praise. "Why yes, sir, I--"

"Why then," Hux interrupts mercilessly, "did you think it necessary to pester me with such trivialities?"

Mitaka's eyes widen, his new-found confidence crumbling. "I was under the impression that you would want to appoint a new chief medical officer yourself..."

A reasonable assumption, Hux can hardly argue with that. He prefers to know who’s occupying the leading ranks of his crew and assigns all important positions himself if it can be arranged. 

He sighs, mollified, and Mitaka visibly relaxes. "I will. Once my schedule allows it. Send me the resumes of the most promising candidates."

"At once, Grand Marshal. And please, forgive my interruption."

Hux waves him off. "Dismissed."

 

* * *

 

"We’re gathered here today to remember Ashalis Cozcar, exceptional medical officer, loyal member of the First Order, cherished friend and beloved mother.”

Hux lets his gaze wander, takes in the grey and white masses, the many faces of those who are assembled here in ceremonial hall 2, not by choice but by obligation.

Most of them wear an expression of carefully constructed compassion though it's clear they don't care much for the unfortunate deaths of a few medical officers.

Only a handful are truly grieving—friends of Cozcar and her team. They're gazing up at Hux with glassy eyes, their hands balled into tight fists.

“We are united not only in our desire to pay our respects to Ashalis Cozcar but also in our need to see that her legacy continues. Nothing could keep her from doing her duty. And nothing should keep us from doing ours. And if we die for our cause, we die for those coming after us.”

“Our loss today will bring us closer together. Cozcar gave her life—but the life of the galaxy is greater than the life of the individual. Cozcar’s name will be remembered not only in stone, but in the hearts of her comrades. We will work and fight for the First Order and for our people, honoring her sacrifice, until we have gained the final victory. That will be our thanks to her and to all those who gave their lives for the cause.”

There are no tears among those gathered here. The Order has no use for tears.

“For the First Order. For victory. For peace.”

Hux finishes, his voice echoing throughout the hall, and he's met with thunderous applause.

"A fine speech. I'm sure Officer Cozcar will be greatly missed," Phasma greets him when Hux steps down and away from the podium. “But a remembrance ceremony for a medical officer, Sir?”

“Cozcar was competent and deserved as much. I’m sure you agree considering that it’s only thanks to her and her expertise that you’re here at all to question my decisions,” Hux says and Phasma argues no further.

Together, they make their way to the private officer's lounge that overlooks the ceremonial hall where the men and women are allowed to mingle for a few hours, released from their usual duties for the remainder of the cycle.

"In fact, Cozcar was one of our best," Hux continues as he makes himself comfortable in one of the icy blue armchairs, while a waiter hurries over to bring a glass of rare Alderaanian wine for Hux only.

"I'm sure there are others just as competent," Phasma says, not the least bit remorseful.

"Under normal circumstances I'd be inclined to agree but we're still short on qualified personnel," Hux argues, the rim of the wine glass pressed to his lower lip. "You could have at least waited until we are back to our usual strength."

Phasma turns towards him and he feels her keen gaze wash over him. Her tone is cold as usual, but there's an underlying note of amusement in her clipped voice that only those who know her well could have detected.

"There are medical officers among the troops General Callista Blaise placed at our disposal.”

Hux sips his wine, the fruity flavor of it almost too sweet on his tongue. He relishes it nonetheless. It had been a particularly difficult undertaking acquiring a bottle of this rare vintage. Pressed and bottled just before Alderaan had been annihilated, Hux feels it's only fitting that he should enjoy it while driving forth the demise of the Resistance and its precious princess. The last reminder of an old and weak government. Remnants of a time long gone.

"I'm aware," Hux says. "I have read their dossiers. All of them quite young."

"And all of them eager to serve," Phasma added. "One might even say a few of them are a bit overeager."

Hux raises a brow in silent question.

"There’s one among them who has already demonstrated unbound ambition and an outstanding  commitment to the Order's cause."

It's rare for Phasma to sing such glowing praise, especially for a man not trained by herself. All the more reason for Hux to be intrigued.

"Who?" he asks.

"Catar Ilin."

Hux remembers the name. A 29-year-old medical officer with exceptional credentials. He was one of the few to have requested a transfer to the  _ Huntress  _ when it became apparent that Callista Blaise would draft part of their troops to serve aboard Hux's new flagship. Ilin even went so far to include a personal statement in his dossier. 

Not a bad fit for the vacant position of head of medical staff, though his age could prove problematic. Hux has not exactly endeared himself to the old Imperial elite by rising the ranks of the First Order so quickly and appointing another inexperienced and, in their eyes, overzealous neophyte to be head of the medical facilities would do little to improve their opinion of him.

"I think I would like to meet that Catar Ilin," he says, swirling his glass.

Phasma isn't surprised. "I thought as much. Which is why I have invited him to join us."

Hux's expression darkens and he puts the glass down with a little more force than necessary.

"Without informing me first?"

Phasma doesn't so much as blink, merely tilts her head as if she can't quite fathom his indignation.

"I didn't think it necessary. Should you refuse to meet with him then I will just have him sent away again. But considering that it has been my fault that you suddenly found yourself without a chief medical officer when the Order is short on personnel already, I thought it best to present a solution to that problem before it arises."

There's no arguing with her reasoning, Hux is well-aware of it. And it's only his pride that makes him scrunch up his nose in displeasure and hesitate for a little longer than absolutely necessary before he waves his hand with an impatient sigh.

"Have him brought in here already."

Phasma gestures at the waiter who has, so far, stood quietly in one corner of the room. The man nods and disappears for a minute before returning with a second, taller man in tow.

Catar Ilin looks just like he did in the photo accompanying his dossier file. Young, with striking blue eyes, blond hair and impeccable posture. A golden boy through and through. The same type of man that had made Hux's life a living hell during his time as a cadet.

He walks up to them with an eagerness in his step that strikes Hux as laudable—as of late, too many of his men have let the Order’s recent losses affect their morale and it shows in their posture. His eyes gleam with fervor and his mouth twitches in indication of a smile when he's close enough to return Hux's calculating gaze.

"Officer Ilin," Hux greets, inviting him with a wave of his hand to join him and Phasma at the table. "Please take a seat."

"Thank you, Grand Marshal."

When he sits, his spine is one graceful arch, his legs properly put together, his hands folded in his lap. A fine example of the excellent training and conditioning of the First Order. Everything about Ilin is within regulation, starting from his boots, polished to a shine, to the tips of his carefully trimmed hair. Hux likes that.

"I'm sure I don't need to explain to you why you're here," Hux says loftily.   
  
Ilin shakes his head, never once taking his eyes off Hux.   
  
"There has been an accident in one of the medical bays, leaving us short of one Chief Medical Officer," he says. His imperial accent is impeccable.   
  
"Quite right," Hux agrees, "and with our current shortage in personnel we can't be too picky with our replacement."   
  
He leans back, watching for any reaction to the obvious slight but Ilin's expression remains carefully neutral. Good. He doesn't need another Imperial son who thinks too highly of his own bloodline.   
  
"Your credentials are outstanding," Hux finally allows and Ilin's eyes gleam at the praise. "And Captain Phasma here considers you a good fit for the position. However, I'm not quite convinced yet."   
  
"Sir?" Ilin asks, his breathy voice betraying a sudden eagerness, as if he's only waiting for Hux to question him, to test him, to make him prove himself in front of his superiors.   
  
Hux cuts right to the core of the issue. "Your file states that you have requested to be transferred here. You even went so far as to include a motivational letter in your dossier. Why?"   
  
For the first time since Ilin has set foot into the lounge his posture conveys uncertainty. He shifts, the movement so miniscule Hux almost misses it, and blinks, breaking the carefully maintained eye contact with him.   
  
"Permission to speak freely, Grand Marshal?"   
  
Hux leans back in his seat, one leg crossed over the other, and takes in the young man sitting in front of him. He can feel Phasma’s judging gaze on him—she knows this game already but is wise enough to keep her mouth shut.

Ilin does not falter under Hux’s scrutiny. He remains unmoving, back ram-road straight, waiting patiently for Hux to deny or grant him his request.   
  
"Granted," Hux allows after some consideration.   
  
"It's because of you, sir. I had seen you that day on Starkiller Base. We all have, in the holo-vids. That day, I swore to myself that I would do everything in my power to serve you and the Order. I took my chance when the call to deploy troops to the  _ Huntress _ came."   
  
Ilin’s voice is shaking with vigor, hands curled into fists at his sides, and his eyes are shining with the feverish light of a true believer.   
  
Hux smiles.   
  
"I’m sure you'll make a fine Chief Medical Officer, Ilin."   
  
He takes his glass and raises it, toasting the young man.   
  
"It seems congratulations are in order.”

 

* * *

 

After the meeting with Catar Ilin Hux finds himself in a much improved, near elated mood. The passing of Cozcar had been unfortunate but not surprising and her replacement seems to be not only competent—he graduated at the top of his class—but also a fervent admirer of Hux’s person.  
  
So when he makes his way back to his quarters an hour later, Hux is eager to continue his work on the hyperspace tracking relay. They have made good progress so far but implementing the device on the _Huntress_ , a ship much smaller and with fewer resources at her disposal than the _Supremacy_ , still poses a challenge.  
  
Nonetheless, Hux isn’t overly worried. With the help of the ore shipments from Pressy's Tumble they should have a functioning prototype in their hands in approximately two standard months. Enough time to fill up their ranks and equip their troops accordingly. Maybe a visit to Canto Bight is in order.  
  
Of course, he would have to discuss such undertakings with Ren first. Unfortunately. But so far he has not been in any hurry to inform the Supreme Leader of his plans. Not after what Hux had taken to calling the _incident_.  
  
He rounds the corner to his quarters, his datapad that he has just used to send inquiries to several weapons dealers on Canto Bight in hand, when he notices the shift in the air.  
  
"Grand Marshal."  
  
Hux stops dead in his tracks, eyes narrowing at the sight that greets him. Ourani is standing there, waiting, accompanied by another member of the Knights of Ren. 

The knight who has spoken Hux doesn't know. Their mask is an elaborate piece of art, black with red lines running like bloody tears down their eyes. They're smaller than Hux but broader, stockier. That impression is enhanced further by the layered robes they’re wearing, not unlike those of the Tusken Raiders of Tatooine. Dangling at their side is not a lightsaber but a collection of scrolls. Paper, Hux realizes and wonders why anybody would carry with them such useless waste.   
  
"We need to talk."   
  
He eyes the knights wearily. Both of them stand relaxed, not an ounce of tension in their shoulders, looking as unthreateningly as two masked Force-users of the Dark Side can.   
  
"There's nothing to discuss."   
  
The two exchange a look and Ourani signs something in the language that only she and the other knights seem to understand.   
  
"She's here to apologize," the knight explains, staring at Hux. "And I'm here to make sure you're listening."   
  
Clever. Had Ourani come alone Hux would have simply refused to look at her, making it impossible for her deliver her signed apology.   
  
"Is that so?” he asks, voice laced with sarcasm. “And how? By pinning me down with one of your many magic tricks and rummaging around in my mind? Again?"

The small knight walks up to Hux, puffing up her chest in what he assumes is meant to be intimidating.

“Ourani didn’t invade your mind. She opened it up, expanded it. What you saw, it was a vision.”

“Of the future, yes. So I’ve been told.”

The knight pauses and tilts their head, eyeing Hux wearily, or so he imagines, before turning to Ourani.

"Stubborn as a mesa goat, just as you said. Almost as bad as our master."

Hux frowns, more insulted by the insinuation that he could have anything in common with Kylo Ren of all people, than by the comparison with a goat. 

"How dare you--" he begins and is promptly cut off by an impatient handwave.

"The vision, did it teach you nothing?" they ask.

The lack of respect is astonishing and Hux is half-tempted to have Ren's knights kicked out of the nearest airlock

"What vision? There was no vision, just a nonsensical dream, meaningless as they all are. Now let me pass."

He stares down at the knight but they remain unfazed. It seems extended periods of time in Kylo Ren's company make one immune to intimidation tactics such as these.

"Can you not see it?" they ask, not bothering to hide the frustration in their voice.

"See what?" Hux shoots back. His patience is running thin. Any minute a stormtrooper patrolling the premise could come walking around the corner and catch the Grand Marshal engaged in a pointless discussion about visions of the future and other such Jedi humbug with two masked lunatics.

"Potential!" the knight barks, exasperated as if it should have been obvious. "Surely your arrogance cannot be so great that you have not at least considered it."

Hux freezes, his eyes growing colder as he draws himself up to his full height.

"If this is about Kylo Ren and me being a chord, or whatever absurdity you called it, then no. I have never considered it. And now you will let me pass or I will have you escorted off my ship."

Further away, Ourani signs something and despite the other knight not even looking at her, they nod in agreement.

"Ourani is right, our master wouldn't allow it."

As much as it pains him, Hux can't possibly argue with that.

"Shouldn't you be more concerned with your master's future instead of mine? It's him you’ve sworn fealty to."

"And it's him we wish to see rule over the galaxy. Your fate would be of no interest to us if it weren't intertwined with our master's."

The knight pauses for a moment, fingers brushing over the scrolls of papers dangling at their hip. When they continue, their voice is softer than before.

"He disagrees, naturally, but we think he would benefit from a calming, analytical presence."

Hux huffs a dry laugh.

"A babysitter is what you want. And I'm inclined to agree. But it won't be me."

His mouth curls into a sadistic smile.

"In fact, I'm looking forward to witnessing his inevitable downfall."

This time, when he tries to push past the knight, he's met with no resistance. Ourani looks at him, somehow conveying disapproval despite the inanimate mask obscuring her face.

He is halfway through punching in his access code into the intercom panel when the knight's voice makes him pause.

"Another thing, Grand Marshal!"

He swallows the scathing remark on the tip of his tongue and throws a look over his shoulder in question.

"What more?"

"Kylo Ren wishes to see you. At once."

 

* * *

 

Walking along the corridors of the Finalizer with two of the Knights of Ren flanking him, Hux feels like a prisoner of war. At least none of his men cross their path on the way to Ren's quarters. Small favors, Hux supposes.

Ren is alone in his quarters, stars know where the rest of his knights are, and Hux is glad for it. The fewer witnesses there are to his continued humiliation by Ren's hands the better.

A quick look around reveals that the rooms are back to their initial state; the repair droids have done remarkable work. And even Ren looks better than before. The circles around his eyes have lessened, much to Hux's envy. His own dark circles are deep craters, the skin around his eyes irritated and dry due to lack of sleep. 

Ren is properly dressed, which is a surprise all in itself, and his hair is neatly combed. He almost looks the part of the Supreme Leader, with the way he sits enthroned in his chair, long legs spread wide.

When his gaze falls on Hux there is none of the conflict he has seen in Kylo Ren’s eyes after their kiss. All there is is cold fury.

Hux straightens and clasps his hands behind his back, his chin held high.

"You called for me, Supreme Leader," he says as he comes to stand before Ren.

Ren looks right through him.

"Ourani, Cl'iio, you may leave."

There's some shuffling behind Hux and for a moment he feels an invisible hand squeeze his shoulder in a needless gesture of reassurance. Ourani, no doubt. 

Hux stands unmoving, refusing to acknowledge her in any shape or form and soon after he hears the doors slide shut behind him.

Once more he finds himself alone with Kylo Ren, who sizes him up, disapproval written into every line of his face.

Ren rises, draws himself up to his full height and never has Hux hated the few inches separating them more than in this very moment.

"You authorized another hyperspace tracking device. Using the resources secured on Pressy's Tumble," Ren says, his voice void of any emotion.

Instantly, the small hairs on the back of Hux's neck stand up. He has to tread carefully.

"We have merely come up with a few designs. Right now our team of engineers is discussing how to best implement a device such as this on the  _ Huntress _ . Nothing has been finalized as of yet."

"And you have done all of this without my explicit permission," Ren growls. “I overlooked your promotion of that weasel Mitaka to Captain without consulting me first but I won't overlook this.”

Ren's irritation comes as a surprise. If anything, Hux would have expected him to be in favor of his plan, considering how eager he has been to hunt down the last members of the Resistance.

"I wasn't aware I needed it," Hux hisses. "Next time I will make sure to acquire a written permit before doing my duties. I'm sure that will result in a drastic increase in productivity."

His insolence is not appreciated, if the sudden pressure around his neck is any indication. It's gone again within a heartbeat. A silent warning.

"There will be no hyperspace tracking system. Cancel the project. Invest our resources into outfitting our troops and acquiring more weaponry."

"What?!" Hux says, a little too loud. "You can't be serious! What use is an army if it can do nothing but sit idly because we don't have the means to track down our enemies?!"

Ren's broad frame shakes with sudden anger, his face hot with indignation at being questioned so.

"As long as they're not moving through hyperspace we can track them with conventional means. Our network of spies is alive and well."

Hux wants to scream in frustration.

"So that they can just disappear on us again? Escaping through hyperspace where we will have no way to track them? Forcing us to start looking with conventional means, as you put it, all over again? Playing an endless game of cat-and-mouse? We need this device, Supreme Leader."

Even Ren must see the logic of that, must be susceptible to reason.

"We don't. There are other ways, less expensive ways. I want our army outfitted and ready for battle."

Ren is too close. Hux can feel the heat radiating off his body. He himself is sweating abominably underneath his uniform, a flush sitting high on his cheekbones that is only in parts due to his bright-burning anger.

"Other ways?" Hux asks in disbelief, ignoring the unpleasant churn of his stomach. "And which would those be, pray tell?!"

Ren hesitates, his face impossibly vulnerable before his mouth pulls into a snarl. "That’s none of your concern, Grand Marshal."

Realisation dawns on Hux and he swallows to suppress a groan.

"You intend to locate the Resistance with the help of your powers?" he asks with biting scorn. "I wasn't aware the Force doubled as a tracker now."

Ren throws him a scathing glare. "Because you know nothing of the Force," he growls, hands curling and uncurling at his sides.

He wants to argue further but then Ren's posture shifts and the words die on the tip of Hux’s tongue.

Ren’s broad shoulders sag and he works his jaw, grinding his teeth together before he swallows and presses his plush lips together so tightly that his mouth is nothing but a thin, red line. His eyes dart back and forth, uncertain whether to return Hux’s questioning glare or avoid eye contact altogether.

An aura of insecurity, of hesitation surrounds Ren that strikes Hux as familiar. He has seen that look before. On the faces of the men and women who were brought to the interrogation chamber of the  _ Finalizer _ , where they were methodically broken down by hours upon hours of cruel torture. Until they were nothing but empty husks and their secrets poured from them like water from a broken jug.

And Ren, he’s wearing that same look now. The look of a man who wants to share what he previously thought he never could. Hux holds his breath, his nerves thrumming with anticipation.

"Snoke," Ren begins, his voice a heavy drawl, as if speaking the name of their former leader out loud is a feat all in itself, "by means which I do not fully understand yet, established a bond between me and the scavenger girl."

Hux furrows his brows.

"A bond?" he echoes. Could Ren be any more cryptic?

"Yes. A connection that allowed us to see and communicate with each other. Snoke used it to lure the girl on board the  _ Supremacy _ ."

Somehow Hux has a feeling there’s more to it, something that Ren is keeping from him, not out of any malicious intent but simply because he’s embarrassed.

"So you had prolonged contact with a member of the Resistance, established by Leader Snoke himself," Hux summarizes dryly. "I fail to see how that could help us with our current predicament."

Against all expectations, Ren doesn’t bother to grace Hux’s sarcastic remark with a reply. 

They're still uncomfortably close but Ren's gaze is lowered, his eyes trained on his own hand as he flexes it, the leather of his gloves creaking as he wallows in memories of the scavenger girl.

"She shut me out on Crait. After Snoke's death the strength of the bond lessened, withering away until I could see her no more. But now....with the knowledge revealed to me through the holocron, I can force the connection open once more."

Hux stares at him in open disbelief. "What?"

Ren raises his head, his hair a smooth, shining veil from underneath which his eyes burn with fierce determination. "I can do it. With the help of my knights I will establish another bond, more powerful this time. Enough to not only show me the girl but her surroundings as well, her feelings, her thoughts. All of it. Enough to track down her whereabouts and crush the Resistance once and for all."

"You can't be serious!" Hux says, aghast. "You can't possibly mean to make this mission dependant on the success of some mythical ritual."

The idea in itself is laughable at best, downright lunatic at worst.

Hux takes a deep breath, involuntarily taking in the by now familiar ashen scent of Ren, and forces himself to calm his flaring temper. Most of the time, logic and reason are lost on Kylo Ren but for the sake of this argument and the future success of the First Order, Hux is willing to try.

His voice is soft, conspiratorial, when he speaks and it's enough to have Ren look up at him with surprise flashing in his eyes.

"Surely, this bond is something that works both ways. You said you could see her,” Hux says, slowly as if speaking to an unruly child. “No doubt she could see you as well. If you strengthen the connection further wouldn't she be able to see your surroundings and hear your thoughts as well."

Instantly, the soft expression on Ren's face hardens and he bares his teeth, snapping at Hux like a mad dog.

"She's nothing but scum! Her powers are no match for mine!"

"She has bested you before," Hux reminds him, incapable of passing up an opportunity to throw Ren's many failures into his face.

The reaction is predictable but no less painful for it. Ren growls, his eyes wild and fixed on Hux as the whole room starts to vibrate with barely controlled energy. Hux groans as the gravity in the room increases exponentially, his rib cage aching with the sudden pressure, threatening to fold in on itself.

"Ren," he whispers, the single syllable a weak, rasping sound.

His legs are shaking with the strain to hold himself upright.

"Ren," he says again, hands reaching out to clutch at the other's tunic, desperate to hold on to something.

There's no indication in Ren's uneven face that he has heard Hux, even though they're so close it feels like they're sharing the same breath.

It's different this time. There are no phantom fingers curling around his throat, no punctured pain. The forces Ren commands are all around him, crashing over him like a tidal wave. He feels like he's drowning.

Already his vision is blurry, Ren's face no more than a palette of black and beige colors, a smudge of red where his mouth should be.

His mouth.

Hux tightens his grip on Ren's shoulders and pulls himself up, closing the infinitesimal distance between them.

The kiss is soft, mostly because Hux doesn’t possess the strength to press against Ren any harder.

As it turns out, he doesn't have to. Ren's mouth is already open when their lips meet and Hux tilts his head so that their noses don’t clash.

Ren turns rigid underneath Hux's touch, neither reciprocating nor breaking away but the pressure threatening to break Hux's ribs is lifted and Hux finds he can breathe again.

He wants to pull away but Ren surges forward and deepens the kiss that was meant to be nothing more than a simple distraction.

Just like the first time, Ren is clumsy and his inexperience is startlingly obvious but he makes up for it with enthusiasm. All his anger seems to have been replaced by a longing so desperate and strong Hux can taste it in the back of his mouth. He doesn’t yearn for Hux personally—Hux isn’t so naive as to believe that—but for the simple comfort of another person’s touch.

He should have expected as much, Hux reprimands himself as one of Ren's hands finds its way around his waist, where it holds him firmly in place. Ren is a simple creature, after all, and once ignited, his desire is a flame impossible to quench or control. 

When Hux parts his lips to breathe, Ren forces his tongue between them, licking at the insides of Hux's mouth with little finesse.

"Ren," Hux mumbles—third time's the charm—and takes Ren's head in his hands, pushing him back so that he can suck in some much needed air.

Up close, Ren's face is no less offending than when studied from a distance. His long nose, the full lips, his eyes that shine bright with pleasure yet hide an all-consuming anger underneath the surface. Like a stone thrown into a well, it would take only the smallest of interference to disturb the fragile balance.

"Let me," Hux murmurs and it would have been a command if not for the softness of his voice.

He has made his decision. So he brushes a thumb over Ren's cheek, feeling the uneven surface of the scar cutting through his face, and leans in to kiss him once more.

This time, Ren allows him to take the lead.

The few people Hux has indulged with like this he can count on one hand—too much can be deduced from the way a man kisses and fucks and Hux has always disliked making himself vulnerable—but his experience still surpasses Ren's.

So he kisses Ren like he suspects the man wishes to be kissed: reverently, fervently, until Ren's solid frame starts to shake underneath his fingertips.

Hux cannot deny that it sends a rush of adrenaline down his spine. This, he knows with sudden clarity, is what true power feels like. 

Ren is helpless, pliant, brought to his knees by nothing but Hux’s touch. One of the most powerful creatures in the galaxy and yet, pressed against him, Ren is nothing but a man.

Before things can escalate any further, Hux ends the kiss. His fingers remain tangled in Ren's hair, tight enough to be understood as a silent warning, but not enough to hurt.

"The hyperspace tracking project?" he asks, nails raking along the sensitive skin of Ren's skull.

It elicits a shudder so strong Hux can feel it reverberate against his own body and his cock gives a traitorous twitch.

"I'll consider it," Ren mumbles into Hux's mouth as he leans in, fully intending to steal another kiss.

Hux is having none of it. He bites down on Ren's barely healed lower lip, holding it between his teeth until he can taste blood.

Ren pulls back with a hiss and a moan, Hux isn't quite sure which, and licks over the small wound.

"There’s work that needs to be done," Hux insists when Ren's eyes darken with the first telltale signs of anger.

He's not used to being denied, the overgrown man-child, and Hux doesn't bother to hide the smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Already forgotten is the ease with which Ren has almost killed him.

Squirming free of Ren's embrace, he collects himself and adjusts his cuffs and coat. "I’m sure there are important matters that require your attention as well, Supreme Leader."

Ren looks as if he wants to argue that estimation, his brows furrowed in displeasure.

The effect is somewhat diminished by the obvious erection tenting his pants, which he makes no move to hide. It's not difficult to deduce what kind of activity Ren would have preferred to devote his attention to instead of performing his duties as the Supreme Leader.

Hux knows for a fact that Ren has, so far, ignored all incoming requests for another meeting with High Command to discuss the future direction he would like the First Order to take.

Ren may have intimidated them into grudging obedience but without a clear direction it's only a matter of time until they will grow restless and more susceptible to conspiring against their loathed leader.

Idle men have idle thoughts, Brendol used to say and Hux is inclined to agree.

He would need to keep High Command busy, so busy that they had neither the time nor leisure to indulge in dreams of dethroning Kylo Ren and seize power over the First Order.

Hux has much to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part about REM sleep was actually bullshit. It doesn't work like that but I do what I want.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feel free to scream at me in the comments or on [tumblr](http://staticraining.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/StaticRaining)


	6. Deafening Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally alone, Hux allows himself to have a closer look at Ren. At his massive body that is all curves and hard muscle; soft skin dotted with birthmarks and black hair framing his angular face like a dark halo.
> 
> You utter fool, Hux wants to scream and yet does not, flexing his hands to resist the primal urge to slap the serene expression off Ren's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) for whipping this whole thing into shape.
> 
> And thank you, [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for holding my hand throughout all of this and saving me from more mental breakdowns than I could count.
> 
> All of you who took the time to read and comment: I love you.  
> 

VI

 

The fine blade, polished to a shine, is a thing of deadly beauty.

It had been delivered to Hux's quarters during his brief stay in Ren's quarters that had ended with Ren's tongue down Hux's throat and his blood on Hux’s lips.

This second incident of unplanned dalliance has left him in a much better mood than their first coming together. Mostly due to the fact that it was him initiating it and who remained in control throughout.

Ren's newly developed obsession has worked quite to Hux’s advantage, with Ren promising to reconsider his plan to cancel the funding for another tracking device.

Hux smiles to himself, his fingers caressing the rounded corners of the durasteel box the cortosis blade had been delivered in.

He's not the kind of man to gain trust and favor with his body—although Pollius Felix would have disagreed if he were alive to do so—yet Hux can't deny that the concept of Ren bleeding out on top of him as Hux cuts his throat in the moment of climax holds a certain appeal.

Similarly, he can't deny the obvious physical attraction between them. As revolting as he finds the man, his attitude, his entire personality, it seems that his body has no such qualms.

Ren isn’t conventionally attractive. Everything about him is either too big or too soft: from his ridiculous ears that he hides underneath the long tresses of hair, to his clumsy hands that can easily fit around the entirety of Hux's waist.

Nonetheless, he exudes a certain kind of charm, Hux supposes, if one was so inclined. His mouth in particular is positively obscene, a mouth that should belong on a woman, though it was so often pulled into a snarl it belied its own softness.

Where Hux is all sharp bones and slim lines, Ren is of a broader build, with wide shoulders and thick thighs.

The stark difference in their physiques used to bother Hux and even now he can't quite shake the feeling of inadequateness that befalls him whenever he lays eyes upon Ren. Only now this feeling is interlaced with something else: a sense of opportunity.

Ever since Ren had read Felix's mind and saw the desire for Hux embedded there, he seems to have developed a new appreciation for Hux, although it is strictly limited to the physical.

Insulting, in a way, to be seen only as a piece of flesh, as nothing but a willing body, but Hux ambitions are greater than his ego (though not by my much) and he has no doubts that he can use this unexpected development for his own gain.

He lifts the cortosis blade, admiring it for a little longer, before he presses the release button of the hidden monomolecular blade in his sleeve. He switches out the blades and puts the monomolecular weapon in the padded box. The biocryptical lock programmed to his fingerprint whirrs softly as it clicks into place.

The cortosis blade is heavier than the monomolecular one, though just as fragile and Hux makes a mental note not to let it affect his body language. What use is a hidden weapon if one betrays its existence by dragging an arm behind and thus raising suspicions?

Other than the additional weight, it's comfortable enough and Hux goes back to work with renewed vigor.

With his hyperspace tracking project temporarily put on hold—at least until Ren has given his express permission to resume work—there’s nothing he can do but contact their trading partners on Canto Bight and negotiate prices for weapons and machinery, as instructed by Ren.

Hux considers it a peace offering. As Grand Marshal he could have assigned such tasks to the lower ranking officers but if Ren makes good on his promise to trust in Hux’s unquestionably superior technology and forget about such nonsense as a telepathic bond, then Hux is inclined to reward the man for it. Like a bassa hound performing a successful trick and receiving a treat.

Nonetheless, dealing with Canto Bight’s numerous entrepreneurs is a tiresome task, especially when communication takes place only through a secured channel of the holonet.

Putting in a personal appearance would have been the polite thing to do but Hux has always disliked the artificial pomp of the planet and its inhabitants. Many of them, particularly those of of old royal stock with not only money but also impressive ancestral lines to their names, look down on him with thinly veiled condescension.

He’s young, in their eyes inexperienced, and worst of all, a bastard. Not even the money Hux offers them on behalf of the First Order can curb this deeply rooted contempt for everything and everyone they consider to be of impure blood and thus below them.

It would matter little in the end. Their system too would bow to the First Order. Sooner rather than later if Hux was to have his way.

It's no secret that the arms dealers of Canto Bight know only loyalty to themselves and sell weapons to both the First Order and the Resistance, so Hux will have no qualms about conquering their home worlds.

Too many systems are remaining neutral in this conflict spanning the whole galaxy. Hux will see it changed.

Snoke had always insisted on giving these systems the illusion of independence, convinced that it would benefit them more than outright conquering them. Hux had disagreed with that approach. Order was not established through permissiveness but through firm control and relentless supervision.

It’s not without a certain irony that the arms he’s ordering will be used to conquer the worlds of the very same people who sold them to him.

Hux smiles as he contacts another arms seller specialising in thermal detonators and discusses the acquisition of several of those through courteous but clipped messages.

He's mindful of their limited budget, convinced that Ren will come to his senses and allow him the development of another tracking system, and only buys enough so that Ren will have no reason to complain.

At the moment their troops are not sufficiently prepared to launch a full attack on the Resistance and the remnants of the New Republic. Not until Phasma deems them fit for active duty and depending on how thoroughly Callista's men have been trained, this could take up to several standard weeks.

With a sigh, Hux puts his datapad away. The stilted negotiation style he has to adopt whenever dealing with Canto Bight’s finest always leaves him drained and tired.

 

* * *

 

Phasma is overseeing the advanced combat simulation all troopers are required to undertake before they're employed in the field.

Hux joins her in the monitoring room where several holo-screens record every trooper currently engaged in one of the simulations, monitoring their heartbeat, adrenaline levels, shooting accuracy, damage output and sustained injuries.

She acknowledges him with a nod as he strides in, a smile tugging at his lips when he greets her.

"Captain, I take it the training of the new recruits is going well?"

They're not technically recruits, already having enjoyed the First Order's excellent training, many of them are even ranked officers but Hux couldn't care less.

He won't have a single man or woman serve under him without having their competency evaluated first. And neither will Phasma.

Though her face is hidden underneath her helmet, her posture reveals some dissatisfaction.

"Callista Blaise has been negligent," she says and Hux smirks.

"Which we had expected. Otherwise I wouldn't have ordered them to undergo the training simulations again."

Hux comes to stand next to her, hands crossed behind his back as he inspects the group of trainees.

Phasma is right, the average point ratio is below the desired score and almost every single trainee has taken too many hits.

All in all, an unsatisfactory result though not entirely unexpected.

"How long until we can deploy them in the field?" Hux asks without taking his eyes of the screens.

He can hear Phasma shifting next to him, turning her head to look at his profile.

"Three standards weeks, at the least. Are we in a hurry?"

It's an insolent question and as her direct superior Hux is in no way obliged to answer but Phasma is an esteemed colleague, one could even go so far as to say they're on friendly terms and the desire to share some of his Ren-induced frustration is strong.

"Ren has plans to follow the Resistance and deploy our troops to have them eradicated."

Phasma makes a sound behind her helmet that comes suspiciously close to a scoff.

"Then he'll have to wait. The troops aren’t ready."

"I doubt that will deter him. He's insistent on finding them, convinced it will take no more than a handful of stormtroopers to have them surrender," Hux says, pleased that Phasma shares his opinion on the matter.

"As long as we have no means of tracking them, there’s little point in having them equipped and battle-ready," Phasma says.

Hux nods in agreement. “Tell that to our esteemed Supreme Leader. He’s convinced he can use his powers to find the Resistance."

"Can he?"

Hux shoots Phasma an appalled look. “Don’t tell me you believe he can find the rebel scum with his mind.”

"I have seen his powers and they’re quite impressive. He might be able to do it and, if that’s the case, then outfitting our army and investing in more weaponry now instead of using our limited budget for research is a sensible move."

Traitor, Hux thinks, his mouth pressed into a tight line. He wants to say as much but is distracted by one of the screens.

Narrowing his eyes, he leans in closer, inspecting the numbers at the upper corner of the screen that display the damage inflicted upon the holographic training models.

"That's impossible," he whispers.

The numbers are too high. Something in the programming of the simulation must be faulty.

"Which trooper is this?" he asks, pointing at the small figure on the screen that’s clad in the usual training outfit of the Order, complete with the required virtual reality goggles that obscure most of their face.

"That damage output is impossible. There must be a programming error," Hux says.

Phasma eyes the monitor for a few seconds before heading over to the console and punching in some commands.

"Everything seems to be in order, sir. The security protocols couldn’t detect any tampering with the base code."

Hux throws another look at the still rising damage counter.

"Who is this?" he asks again, impatience lacing every word.

"No trooper, sir," Phasma says, unfazed by his rising temper. "It's one of Ren's."

"One of Ren's," Hux echoes weakly. Of course, who else could it be but one of Ren's little playmates.

"What are they doing here?"

"They claimed to have been 'bored out of their goddamn mind', sir, and expressed interest in the simulations. I saw no reason to deny them."

"Indeed," Hux says, running a hand down his face as he watches the Knight of Ren obliterate their virtual opponents with ease.

It's an impressive feat, there’s no arguing it and despite his initial outrage he recognizes this unexpected turn of events as the opportunity it is. When else would he ever have the chance to study a Force user’s battle prowess?

The damage counter is still rising and Hux swallows a lump in his throat. If this is what a Knight of Ren is capable of without using the Force how much more can their master do?

Hux watches with rapt attention until the knight has finished the simulation, beating their last opponent without so much as breaking a sweat, then he turns to leave, his coat billowing behind him.

The simulation training area is spacious, partitioned in dozens of training cells that can be accessed through a central lobby hall where a holographic scoreboard keeps track of the all the troopers' scores currently engaged in a combat simulation.

Its primary function is, of course, motivational in nature; to inspire the troopers to constantly improve their performances but more often than not it is misused as cheap entertainment. The men would gather around the board and place bets on who would score the highest.

It isn't strictly prohibited but not looked upon favourably by command either.

So Hux isn't surprised when the small crowd of troopers assembled in the atrium fall silent upon his arrival, when just seconds prior, Hux could hear their excited shouting and yelling even through the thick durasteel doors.

"Grand Marshal Hux," one of the senior troopers stutters.

To his credit, common sense catches up with him quickly. He straightens, the heels of his boots clicking together, and raises one arm in salute to greet his superior officer.

Instantly, all those gathered around him snap to attention and follow his example.

Hux lets his gaze wander for a moment before it settles on the trooper who has addressed him first.

"At ease," he says and a wave of relief sweeps through the room. He doesn't plan on having these men and women punished or send to reconditioning. Some healthy competitiveness is encouraged even, but it can't hurt to remind them once in a while that the simulations Hux himself has developed aren’t meant for their entertainment.

"I see the combat simulations are especially popular today. Is there a reason for it?" he asks, feigning ignorance.

The man—the ID tag on his training suit reads KY-7835—blinks once, twice, his gaze flickering to the scoreboard before settling on Hux again.

"A new record, sir. Several in fact. The men were just excited, sir."

Hux raises a single brow. "Obviously."

He folds his hands, his gloves squeaking with the motion. "Well then, where is this trooper who has managed to break every highscore on record? They deserve a reward for such an outstanding performance, I should think."

KY-7835 squirms under Hux's close scrutiny but doesn't avert his eyes. Commendable.

"Well?" Hux asks again, allowing a note of impatience to slip into his carefully controlled voice.

"It wasn't a trooper, sir," KY-7835 finally admits but before he can explain himself, loud clatter coming from one of the training cells interrupts them. All eyes turn towards the door to chamber XI and a second later, it slides open with a screeching hiss.

The figure emerging is of average height but with a grace to their steps that makes them seem like they're levitating rather than walking.

Hux can't say with certainty which of the Knights of Ren it is. He has only ever seen them in their masks and this one does not wear theirs, only the virtual reality goggles required for the simulations.

When they pull the goggles off and let them fall to the ground without caring for any damage this might cause, Hux is none the wiser.

Their face is neither young nor old. Neither male nor female. Not a hair is on their head, the skull clean-shaven just as the eyebrows. Even their lashes are so pale they might as well be non-existent. They're human, that much Hux can tell though little more than that.

And they laugh open-mouthed and unbothered by all the attention as they walk up to where Hux and KY-7835 are standing.

"Ha, you owe me a bottle of Tevraki whiskey, Key!"

Hux glares at KY-7835 and the trooper has the good grace to look sheepish.

"We do not encourage gambling here at the First Order," Hux interrupts and draws himself up to his full height, hands clasped behind his back, radiating authority.

It leaves the Knight of Ren unimpressed if their scrunched up nose is any indication.

"It's you," they say, as if they only just noticed Hux, "the Destroyer of Worlds."

"A bit theatrical perhaps," Hux allows, mouth curling into a pleased smirk, "but appropriate. What is a Knight of Ren doing combat simulations for? Shouldn't you be assisting your master with whatever mystical nonsense he's currently preoccupied with?"

The knight's face darkens and despite their small stature they make a step forward, as if meant to intimidate Hux.

"Master was right, your ignorance truly is as vast as the galaxy," she hisses and Hux's expression darkens.

Luckily for the impertinent Force-user, KY-7835 seems to sense Hux’s plummeting mood and is quick to intervene.

"Grand Marshal, may I introduce you to Terpo Ren? They have been very impressed with the combat simulations you have developed."

The knight—Terpo—throws KY-7835 a look full of disdain but is smart enough not to antagonize Hux any further.

"They're passable," they grudgingly admit, arms crossed over their chest.

"I'm so relieved that my work finds the approval of a second-rate Force-magician," Hux replies dryly.

Terpo huffs, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like _Bantha spew_ under their breath and realization dawns on Hux. They were the one to play with a pair of dice when Hux first made the Knights’ acquaintance. So they have a proclivity for gambling, like a common smuggler.

Hux is about to admonish them for their rudeness when a shiver runs through the ship, like an ice cold wisp of wind settling in Hux’s bones.

"Master..." Terpo whispers, a far-away look in her pale eyes. Before Hux can ask, they’re gone, leaving Hux to stare at the empty spot where they’ve been a heartbeat ago.

_What in kriffing Hells?_

"KY-7835, proceed," Hux tells the trooper and hurries after Terpo. It’s not difficult to guess where they’re heading and Hux swallows down a lump in his throat as he storms down the endless corridors of the _Huntress_. He has an exceedingly bad feeling about this.

When he sets foot in Ren’s quarters he finds all six of the Knights of Ren crowded together in the living area.

To Hux’s surprise, nobody questions his sudden appearance. On the contrary, Ourani even seems relieved when she catches sight of him, the deep red of her eyes lighting up as she greets him with a few hurried signs.

"What is going on?" Hux says out loud, his eyes darting back and forth between the knights. "Where’s Ren?"

As if on command, the knights part to reveal the motionless form of Kylo Ren lying on the polished durasteel floor.

Hux's eyes widen and in two broad strides he's beside Ren and drops to his knees.

Ren is on his side, his face obscured by the black mass of his hair. There are no visible wounds, no blood anywhere on his clothes or body. His chest rises and falls in a steady intervals but he doesn't react when Kallio grabs him by his arm and shakes him forcefully.

"He won’t wake, no matter what we do. Calling to him through the force availed to nothing and his mind is closed for us," Cl'iio laments, and though her expression remains hidden behind her mask Hux can hear the mounting aggravation in her voice.

Hux throws her an incredulous look. "He's in a coma? How could this happen?"

"Not a coma. Even in a coma we should be able to see the surface of his mind. This is something else. We believe he tried to reforge the bond between him and the girl from Jakku," a knight Hux hasn't been introduced to yet explains. They're the tallest of the group, taller even than Ren, and their voice is a deep melodic rumble that sends an involuntary shiver down Hux's spine.

However pleasant their voice may be, it doesn't reduce Hux's irritation in the slightest.

"Weren't you supposed to assist him?!" he barks.

With a snap, he pulls off one of his gloves and presses two fingers against the pulse point on Ren's neck, right underneath his high collar.

"We were," Kallio admits, a pinched expression marring her lovely face. "But the ritual wasn't supposed to commence until the end of this cycle. Something must have agitated him enough to make him throw all caution to the wind and try on his own. Something. Or someone."

She looks at him with accusation burning bright in her eyes but Hux ignores her and concentrates on Ren's pulse instead.

When he finds it, the steady thrum underneath his fingertips is unexpectedly soothing and Hux forces himself to take a deep breath. Already he can feel some off the tension in his shoulders melt away.

He's not worried for Ren personally. Far from it. But keeping the current precarious state of the First Order in mind, it wouldn't bode well for them to lose two Supreme Leaders within a few cycles.

Right now, what the Order requires is stability.

He vividly remembers the doubtful looks of Julia Agrippina and the rest of High Command and their contempt for Ren after he had nearly killed them with his powers. For them both he and Hux are nothing but arrogant youngsters, better suited to serve than to lead.

But the bitter truth is: as long as High Command is alive and Hux’s position as leader of the First Order not secured, he needs Ren and his strength.

"You," Hux snaps at Terpo, uncaring for the feral snarl he receives in return, "you’re fast, are you not? Go and fetch me medical officer Catar Ilin."

Terpo looks as if they’re sorely tempted to disembowel him right then and there but a warning look from Kallio makes them reconsider.

"And be discreet!" Hux calls after them as they make to leave, never once looking up.

By the time Terpo returns with a comically puzzled Ilin in tow, the knights have carried Ren to his bed and stripped him down to his pants, all under Hux’s watchful eyes.

"Has anybody seen you?" he asks, forgoing a greeting.

Terpo grinds their teeth in frustration and Hux almost smiles at the barely concealed murderous intent radiating off them. It reminds him of Ren.

"I don’t think anybody has," Ilin answers in Terpo’s stead. "Was that the Force? We seemed to be invisible to those we encountered on our way here."

He’s remarkably collected for a man who has just been escorted to the Supreme Leader’s chambers without any kind of explanation. Hux would even go so far as to say that he looks curious, his eyes darting across the room and taking in the spare surroundings and gathered knights before settling on Hux.

"I don’t think it needs to be said that nothing of what I’m about to tell you is to leave this room under any circumstances. You will be discreet. Failure to do so will result in execution. Is that understood?" Hux says, brooking no argument.

"Of course, Grand Marshal," Ilin is quick to reply, not a hint of hesitation or fear in his voice.

"Good. Follow me."

Hux leads Ilin to Ren’s bedroom while the Knights of Ren stay behind, throwing him and Ilin suspicious glances until Hux closes the doors separating the two areas in their faces.

Acting just as professionally as Hux expected him to, Ilin immediately moves over to where Ren is lying on the bed.

"What happened?" he asks as he checks Ren’s pulse.

"A Jedi ritual gone awry," Hux explains sourly, arms crossed over his chest as he watches Ilin work. "The Supreme Leader doesn’t seem to have sustained any significant injuries but failed to regain consciousness. He doesn’t react to external stimuli either."

Ilin hums in understanding—Hux doubts he knows anything about the Jedi and feigns it only for his sake—and produces a medical datapad from underneath his uniform, as well as two small scanners that he unclips from his belt.

"A RFX/K medisensor and a encephaloscanner," he explains without prompting. "The medisensor is used to check for injuries or illnesses. The encephaloscanner scans a patient’s brain and can detect possible anomalies in the brain waves."

"I'm well aware of how an encephaloscanner works," Hux snaps.

His medical expertise may be limited but even he has received base training that included instructions on how to administer first aid. He certainly has no need for Ilin's infantilizing.

To his credit, Ilin doesn’t so much as blink.

"Of course, sir. I apologize. It's an old habit from treating stormtroopers who have a hard time shaking off the cruel realities of combat. We medical officers tend to explain every step of our treatment to minimize the danger of a patient lashing out on us. An injured stormtrooper, still in battle frenzy, can be a danger to himself and those around him."

"Every trooper receives basic medical training and should know what an encephaloscanner is," Hux argues, somewhat appalled that his troops seem to require such coddling when being treated.

"They do, sir. But theory and practice are two very different things. Especially when you're bleeding out of every single orifice. It's hard to remember that the person with the needle and scalpel isn't your enemy then."

llin speaks of all this with the trained detachment of a professional, while he draws blood from one of Ren's fingers. The encephaloscanner floats gently over Ren's head, scanning his skull with a gentle drone.

Ren looks impossibly young, far younger than his 29 years, and not even the scar cutting through the lower half of his face can diminish that impression. He looks like the scared boy in the holo-vid that Hux had found among Snoke's belongings.

Fool, Hux curses in his mind, hoping that somehow Ren can hear him. Had Ren not said he would reconsider Hux's proposal for a new tracking system instead of attempting to seek out the Resistance with his mythical powers?

A coma serves him well for forgoing Hux's suggestion. Were Snoke still alive, he wouldn't have hesitated to hold that new failure against Ren and use it to strengthen his own position within the Order.

Now, there’s nothing to gain from it. He briefly entertains the thought of proclaiming himself Supreme Leader but discards it quickly. It's doubtful that such a bold and willful move would find the approval of High Command and without Ren and his admittedly useful powers, Hux is rather ill-equipped to fend off a possible coup.

Even if his army was at full strength and High Command on his side, he could hardly dispose of Ren with his knights in such close proximity. As long as they're on-ship, every attempt on Ren's life is surely bound to fail.

Hux huffs, frustration seeping into the pale lines of his face as he looks down on his supposed Supreme Leader.

Here he lies, vulnerable and helpless, the perfect target. And there is nothing Hux can do about it.

Ilin's leveled voice breaks him out of his circular broodings. Hux looks up to find himself face to face with him, the medical officer eyeing him with open curiosity.

"The Supreme Leader's blood values are all in normal range. No inner bleeding, no calvarial fracture or intracranial bleeding. No elevated intracranial pressure that would suggest a brain trauma either. Everything seems perfectly normal. He's the embodiment of health,” Ilin trails off, staring at his medipad in bewilderment.

Hux squints, sensing a ‘but’ coming.

"Well?" he presses, in no mood to play little games with Ilin.

"I'm sorry, sir," llin says, "but the scanner failed to pick up any brain activity."

Hux’s world stutters to a halt and he curls his hands into tight fists at his side to keep his fingers from shaking.

"Are you telling me, officer, that our Supreme Leader is brain-dead?”

llin swallows, the curve of his adam's apple moving up and down his throat. "For all intents and purposes, yes."

Bright hot fury explodes in Hux's chest, an impotent rage, paired with a helplessness the likes Hux hasn't felt since he found the sad remains of Supreme Leader Snoke in his burning throne room.

"Dismissed," he whispers.

"But sir--"

"I said dismissed," Hux repeats, voice promising a world of pain if he were to be disobeyed a second time.

"Sir," Ilin says, saluting before he hurries out of the room and closes the doors firmly behind him.

Finally alone, Hux allows himself to have a closer look at Ren. At his massive body that is all curves and hard muscle; soft skin dotted with birthmarks and black hair framing his angular face like a dark halo.

You utter fool, Hux wants to scream and yet does not, flexing his hands to resist the primal urge to slap the serene expression off Ren's face.

"What have you done?" he whispers into empty air.

Ren does not stir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops.
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> Feel free to scream at me in the comments or on [tumblr](http://staticraining.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/StaticRaining).


	7. Interlude: Another Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kallio Ren is agitated.
> 
> The voices of her companions are a roiling sea inside her head, an ebb and flow, sometimes louder, sometimes quieter, but all of them reverberating with the distinctive frequency of fear.
> 
> Master. Master. Master. Death. Despair. Wrath. An endless cacophony of thoughts and images projecting in her mind. Absent from it all though, is the deep, rumbling presence that used to be Kylo Ren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) for whipping this whole thing into shape.
> 
> And thank you, [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for holding my hand throughout all of this and saving me from more mental breakdowns than I could count.
> 
> All of you who took the time to read and comment: I love you.  
> 

Interlude —  Kallio Ren  
  


Kallio Ren is agitated.

The voices of her companions are a roiling sea inside her head, an ebb and flow, sometimes louder, sometimes quieter, but all of them reverberating with the distinctive frequency of fear.

Master. Master. Master. Death. Despair. Wrath. An endless cacophony of thoughts and images projecting in her mind. Absent from it all though, is the deep, rumbling presence that used to be Kylo Ren.

"I don't like this," Terpo spits, voice too high, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against their thigh. "Why do you let that general keep us away from him? He's just a man. He had no right."

_ He won't hurt Kylo _ , Ourani's voice echoes inside their connected minds.

"No, he won't. But not due to lack of desire. That man is dangerous, Kylo has said so himself," Melpomene argues, her velvety voice washing over Kallio like a soothing balm, despite the grim nature of her words.

"He is dangerous," Kallio agrees, "but so are we. So is our master."

"Right now he's about as dangerous as a newborn fengla though, isn't he?" Thaleia says, the mischievous sparkle in her eyes matching the smile etched into the mask covering the lower half of her face.

"This is no time for jest, Thaleia," Cl’iio reminds her, the displeasure at her sister's attitude palpable through the Force.

“You worry too much, Cl'iio,” Thaleia throws back, unconcerned. 

Her aura had been the only one to remain a calm, pulsing red when they discovered the lifeless body of their master.

Kallio wishes she could share her optimism.

“And you don't worry enough,” she says, raising a hand in warning when Thaleia opens her mouth to argue. “No more pointless bickering. The marshal won't harm Kylo but that doesn't mean we should sit idle.”

"How can you know?" Terpo interrupts. "His mind is not easy to read and he's ruthless, yearning for power. I have felt it. If he were Force-sensitive, his hunger would rival that of Lord Nihilus himself."

_ He's an opportunist but not a fool. No harm will come to Kylo from him. At least not for the moment _ , Ourani interjects. Her mental touch feels gentle but firm, like a soft press against the back of Kallio's skull.

Kallio sighs, her lekku twitching and the tips curling in a gesture of gratitude at the small comfort Ourani is trying to give her.

“Enough of the marshal. Our master lies unconscious, his mind all but dead to us. And have we not sworn to protect him? We should be ashamed to have failed so,” she says.

“What about the doctor?” Terpo asks, jerking her head in the general direction of the closed durasteel doors. “Do you think he can find out what's wrong with him?”

_ Maybe you should ask him that yourself _ , Ourani whispers in their minds.

All eyes turn as the doors open with a hiss and out of Kylo's quarters steps the doctor, fair-haired and blue-eyed, a golden child of the dead Empire.

Kallio finds it curious, that he would not cower at their sight, his mind like the frozen lakes of Ziost, deep and difficult to penetrate.

"Doctor," Kallio greets him and inclines her head in respect of his profession. "How is our master?"

He doesn't flinch, doesn't move an inch when all six of the Knights of Ren step closer, thirsting for news of their leader.

"I fear I'm not allowed to convey any of the information regarding Supreme Leader Ren's health. If you'll excuse me. There's a medical bay waiting for me to return to after I've been dragged away from it so rudely..."

His expression remains neutral, betraying no ill feelings, but Kallio can sense a flicker of annoyance when he catches sight of Terpo. Of course. Their youngest is a wild and fiery soul that still burns too bright at times. She wouldn’t have been gentle with him.

"We won't be making demands of your time much longer, doctor, rest assured," Kallio says, underlacing her voice with a thread of the Force, giving her words more weight without tearing the man’s mind apart. "But Kylo Ren was our master before he was your Supreme Leader. We worry for him as one would worry for a brother. At least tell us if he's in any life-threatening danger."

For a split second the stern expression on the doctor's face slackens and his eyes glaze over. Then the spell is broken.

"Apologies but there is nothing I can tell you,” he says, brows furrowed. “I have strict orders from Grand Marshal Hux. If you want information, you'll have to take it up with him."

Kallio's expression darkens. It's rare for an untrained Force-Null to withstand her subtle powers. Even Hux had only noticed that he was being manipulated when it was already too late. But it seems the looming repercussions should he go against direct orders from the Grand Marshal are a greater threat than a gentle nudge of the Force.

They watch as the doctor hurries past them, medical datapad in hand, not deigning them another look.

Out of the corner of her eyes Kallio can see Thaleia grin.

"What?" she huffs and crosses her arms over her chest.

"He resisted your Force manipulation," she giggles and earns herself a reprimanding glare from Melpomene.

"So he did," Kallio grudgingly admits, little pleased as she stares at the empty spot where the doctor has stood only moments before.   
  
_ Do you wish for me to speak to the Grand Marshal? _ Ourani asks.   
  
Kallio knows that Ourani has taken a liking to the young man, convinced that hidden beneath layers of cold arrogance and ruthlessness lies a man of passion and, deeper still, a frightened boy yearning for acceptance.   
  
"No," Kallio says after some contemplation. "I'll talk to him myself."   
  
She musters a wink, trying for a confidence she doesn't feel. When she first met Grand Marshal Hux he was an amusing piece of entertainment on an otherwise boring ship. A figure that occupied many a thought of her master and who, it seemed, was a constant source of aggravation for him. Kallio and the others had instantly seen the gossamer thread that connected his fate with that of the Grand Marshal. For a while it had made their constant quarreling all the more amusing as they waited for the two to realize the potential that lay in an allegiance.   
  
But now, Kylo's survival hinges on whether or not Hux considers him more useful dead than alive. Little entertainment lies in that.   
  
Unlike Ourani, Kallio isn't entirely convinced that Hux would not try and kill their master. Terpo wasn't wrong when she compared him to the Lord of Hunger. Always he wanted more. More power, more control, his aura pulsating with the strength of his ambitions.   
  
"Cl'iio," Kallio says, still deep in thought, "see if you can find anything that might be of help."   
  
Cl'iio nods, silent behind her mask but already her hands linger on the scrolls dangling at her side, as if a touch is enough for her to absorb the information preserved on the brittle paper.   
  
"And what about us?" Terpo interrupts, arms spread wide in an all-encompassing gesture. They're eager to help, Kallio can sense it in the sudden spike in their aura, their mind jumping from one thought to the next.   
  
"You and Thaleia will guard our master," Kallio decides.   
  
This seems to please Terpo who cracks her knuckles and straightens, throwing Thaleia a crooked grin that reveals too many of their sharp teeth.   
  
"The marshal won't be happy about that," they say, wickedness darkening their usually pale eyes.   
  
"That's not why I asked you to do it. As long as we don't know what has befallen Kylo and if there is a cure, he's vulnerable. Guard him with your life. Let nobody in but the doctor and the Grand Marshal."   
  
Terpo purses their lips. "Fine, we'll make sure nobody so much as lays a finger on him, right Thaleia?"   
  
Thaleia tilts her hooded head and the corners of her mouth pull up into a mischievous smile.   
  
"It'll be our pleasure."   
  
Kallio barely resists the urge to roll her eyes at them. As the youngest of their group, the two are prone to mischief and chaos but nonetheless, she's convinced they will do what they have been tasked with and not let a single soul enter their master's quarter without permission.   
  
"The others, see that you help Cl'iio. Reach out in the Force, meditate on a possible solution to our predicament. Remember your lessons and training."   
  
They nod in unison, determination radiating off them in thick waves. Even Thaleia's usually smirking expression has mellowed to a grim smile.   
  
"Good," Kallio says and turns to the closed doors leading to the bedroom. "Leave the Grand Marshal to me."

  
  


* * *

 

When she sets foot into the bedroom, Hux is standing over Kylo’s bed, his back impossibly straight as he is glances down at him with an expression so soft, it belies the thoughts of murder and usurpation swirling on the surface of his mind.

He turns when he hears Kallio approaching and the unexpected softness of his features quickly melts away to be replaced by the more familiar condescension.   
  
"He's brain-dead," Hux informs her, cutting straight to the point. He lifts his head, the vibrant red of his curled lips a sharp contrast to the almost sickly pallor of his skin.   
  
"Is that what was supposed to happen?" he sneers. "Getting himself practically killed? Leaving me to clean up the resulting mess as usual? If so than it certainly worked. A fine leader you have there."   
  
He's agitated, Kallio realizes, and he tries to hide it behind a veneer of sarcasm and annoyance.   
  
"Brain-dead?" Kallio lets the word roll off her tongue in an experimental drawl. It sounds wrong, untrue. Like there is more to it than the simple death of her master's mind.   
  
"Apparently," Hux says, not realizing that her words weren't meant for him. "Has this been known to happen?" he asks after some silence.   
  
Kallio squints, surprised at the subtle note of concern, which Hux does a fine job of hiding from his voice but cannot keep from showing in his aura. The events must have affected him quite severely if it shows in his otherwise tightly controlled emotions.   
  
It's unclear whether that concern is for himself or for Kylo but Kallio finds it interesting nonetheless.   
  
"No," she shakes her head, "but I'm no scholar and the Force works in mysterious ways. There might be recordings of such a phenomenon scattered throughout the galaxy."   
  
"So?" Hux prods, one eyebrow raised.   
  
Despite the gravity of the situation, Kallio has to swallow the smile threatening to bloom on her face at his poor attempt at subtlety.   
  
She decides to indulge him. "So we will search for a cure. With all means available to us."   
  
Hux's face twitches, the shift barely noticable. Kallio would have missed it entirely if she wasn't so attuned to the moods and ticks of those around her.   
  
"Does that mean you'll leave us?" he asks, too tense to be casual.   
  
This time, Kallio doesn't bother to hide her smirk. "Fear not, Grand Marshal, I will leave two of my knights behind to watch over him. No harm shall befall him."   
  
Hux is too cunning to let the disappointment show on his face but his shoulders sag a little nonetheless.   
  
"Very well, I expect to be updated on any progress you might make, unlikely as it is."

He hesitates, his calculating gaze wandering to Kylo's motionless form once more, lingering on the scar running from his angular face down to the muscular curve of his chest.

Interesting.

As if sensing her thoughts, Hux snaps out of his reverie and turns to Kallio, his expression an intriguing mix of annoyance and abashment.

"I assume you wish to spend some time alone with your master." He doesn't wait for an answer. "I shall leave you to it. I have more important things to worry about than this latest mess Ren has maneuvered himself into."

"Who are you trying to convince, Grand Marshal? Me or yourself?" she asks.

He flashes her a vicious glare but doesn't rise to the bait.

"See to it that you and your entourage are gone by the time I return," he snaps on his way out.

How prickly he is; Kallio can’t entirely blame Kylo for so often being at odds with the man. Both are stubborn, proud creatures, digging their teeth into the flesh of lesser men and not letting go until they had their fill of blood.

Once the marshal is gone, greatcoat billowing behind him, Kallio turns to Kylo.

She reaches out, letting her fingertips trail the raised edge of the scar before moving up to Kylo's eyelids—the thick lashes tickling her skin—until she comes to a halt between the soft crease of his eyebrows.

If Kallio didn't know any better, she'd think he’s merely sleeping. His hair, washed for once, lies in messy waves around his head, his skin is a healthy pink dotted with moles, even the prominent scar seems not as deep as it used to.

Hoping against all hope she presses harder and lets her mind mingle with his. She finds nothing. Only a black, empty void threatening to suck her in.

There's no reason to be disappointed, the result was to be expected, and yet she can't help but feel her stomach tighten with anxiety, the taste of failure in the back of her throat when Kylo remains unmoving sharp and biting.

Gently, she plucks a stray strand of hair from Kylo's forehead and tugs it back behind his too big ear.

Kallio pulls back with a sigh. The Marshal was right at least in that regard, a fine leader he is indeed.

"How terrifying you two could be together," she muses.

 

* * *

 

"Korriban?" Melpomene's voice vibrates with intrigue.

Cl'iio nods. "The Dark Side is strong on Korriban and knowledge dwells in the Valley of the Dark Lords. Knowledge that might help us bring Kylo back."

She pulls one of the scrolls from her belt and unfolds the piece of paper to reveal a blank space bare of any ink. Lifting the scroll to her masked face, she breathes on the paper and for a moment the red lines on her mask seem alive, writhing.

When she puts the scroll down on the table between them nothing seems to happen for a while. But then fine lines appear on the parchment, thin as hair. The lines thicken and spread, connecting in places to form an intricate web of lines until the form a full picture.

"It's a map," Melpomene says, obviously delighted.

"Yes,” Cl'iio says, “of a place once known as the Valley of the Lost Kings. Many Sith-Lords of old are buried there, so strong an echo of that power still lingers in those ruins."

Kallio stares down at the intricate map. The black lines are spreading still, drawing steep slopes and yawning chasms, marking graves and tombs with splattered dots.

Korriban. The name is enough to make the tips of her lekku tremble.

"It's a dangerous place," she concedes. "And we're no Sith. We might not be welcome there."

"Most certainly not," Cl'iio agrees, straightening out the creased edges of the paper. "But do we have a choice?"

Silence settles over them like a shroud and Kallio finds herself torn.

She's neither the oldest nor the wisest among the Knights of Ren and yet the burden of leadership has fallen to her, in Kylo's absence.

_ I'll go with you wherever you shall lead me, sister _ , Ourani says, taking the decision from her, and though Kallio cannot see her face, she knows the Chiss is smiling.

"And so will I," Cl'iio adds, "My life and skills are yours. You'll need somebody to lead you through the vast emptiness that is Korriban, after all."

Kallio doesn't argue. There are few left in the galaxy with as much knowledge of the old ways as Cl'iio and she'd be wise to use her unique talents when they're offered so freely.

"And you," Melpomene speaks up, shouldering her heavy quarterstaff as she looks at Cl'iio, "will need somebody to cover your ass when you're too busy poring over some piece of old junk to defend yourself."

Cl'iio clicks her tongue, the sound slightly muffled by her mask. "That was one time. And it wasn't junk. It was a piece of ancient Zuguruk pottery."

"So, junk," Melpomene concludes.

Cl'iio doesn't deign to give her a response.

"It's decided then," Kallio says, letting her gaze wander. A look in the eyes of her sisters reveals only determination and fierce loyalty.

“We'll leave for Korriban in twelve standard hours. I'll inform the Grand Marshal. I'm sure he'll be happy to aid us in any way he can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a whole bunch of headcanons for every single Knight of Ren but I fear those will never make it into the final fic, but alas!
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> Feel free to scream at me in the comments or on [tumblr](http://staticraining.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/StaticRaining).


	8. Dark Paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in the five years that Hux has known Ren, he’s glad for the man's refusal to do any of the duties that are expected of a co-commander on a Star Destroyer and, instead, has made a habit of isolating himself from crew and personnel.
> 
> So nobody questions it when Ren has seemingly disappeared from the Huntress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) for whipping this whole thing into shape.
> 
> And thank you, [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for holding my hand throughout all of this and saving me from more mental breakdowns than I could count.
> 
> All of you who took the time to read and comment: I love you.  
> 

VII

 

For the first time in the five years that Hux has known Ren, he’s glad for the man's refusal to do any of the duties that are expected of a co-commander on a Star Destroyer and, instead, has made a habit of isolating himself from crew and personnel.

So nobody questions it when Ren has seemingly disappeared from the  _ Huntress _ .

Only Phasma had tilted her head in question when Ren failed to show up for his weekly training sessions with the troopers and Hux had to inform her, somewhat tight-lipped, that the Supreme Leader's responsibilities could no longer permit such dalliances.

She knew he was lying but was smarter than to call him out on it.

Catar Ilin kept his mouth firmly shut as well and Hux trusts his expertise enough to have him examine Ren on a daily basis. So far, nothing has changed.

"Sir, if he’s brain-dead then there’s little I can do," Ilin insists during one of his visits, not for the first time either.

Hux barely listens.

"How long has he been like this now, officer?" he asks, eyes on Ren’s supine form.

llin frowns and consults his medipad. "Three cycles and sixteen hours."

"Exactly. Three cycles and sixteen hours. And yet his body has required no sustenance during that time. No food. No water. There are no symptoms of dehydration or malnutrition. No significant weight loss. All his vital signs are normal. He can very obviously initiate his own breathing. Something that should be impossible if he were truly brain-dead. But he is, as you have already pointed out, in peak physical condition. Explain that to me, officer."

"I--" Ilin pauses, gnawing on his lower lip. "I can't, sir. With no brain activity, the breathing reflex carried out by the brain stem shouldn’t be working."

“And yet here we are,” Hux concludes. "Because there’s apparently no logical explanation for the Supreme Leader's condition. None of your tests have yielded any results. I would have expected more from you, officer.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Hux can see Ilin swallow down his pride. He waves his hand in a disparaging gesture. “You're dismissed."

Ilin is smarter than to argue with him and disappears without making a fuss. Hux is glad for it. Since the departure of Kallio and her knights he has spent most of his time shadowed by the two who have been left behind.

Always they lurk just around the corner, behind closed doors, eyeing him with disdain when he makes his thrice-daily visit to Ren's quarters. They’re waiting outside even now, loyal like a pair of slakari-hounds, ready to tear him to shreds should he do so much as touch Ren.

So far, no word from the other knights has reached him, despite Kallio's promise to keep him updated on their mission.

Whatever that mission entailed. As far as Hux understood it they were heading to a remote planet in the Outer Rim where they hoped to find answers to Ren's mysterious illness.

An absolute waste of resources in Hux's opinion, but it would keep the Knights of Ren off his back for the foreseeable future and so he had agreed to offer them any and all aid they needed.

They took provisions and fuel for their ship but little else. 

Hux couldn't care less. Rubbing his temples with his gloved fingers, he throws a last look at Ren before he makes his way to his own quarters.

He would have prefered to return to the bridge but after skipping three of his scheduled rest cycles already, he can't refuse his body's demands anymore.

Black stars dance in the corner of his vision as he punches his personal code into the access panel of his quarters.

When he steps inside he doesn't turn on the lights, simply shrugs out of his greatcoat and officer's uniform and sinks into bed, the rough regulation sheets against his skin a silent comfort. Kayfour would take care of the rumpled clothes later.

He doesn't know how much time has passed when he wakes once more. It can’t have been more than a few hours, his alarm has not gone off yet. Groaning, he turns, only to find that the chronometer usually residing on his bedside table is gone.

When he reaches out to fumble for it in the dark, he freezes.

He turns his hands, eyes wide as he takes in his slender fingers adorned with rings, the nails longer than the regulation length the Order dictates. The skin of his palms is a vibrant blue.

These are not his hands.

Hux startles and dread crawls up his throat as he stumbles out of bed, near falling when his feet get tangled up in the thin blanket. He braces himself for the impact on the hard durasteel floor only to realize that he’s not in his bedroom anymore.

"Lights to 100%!" he barks, hating how his voice trembles with poorly suppressed panic.

Nothing happens.

He dares another step in the total darkness, reaching for his datapad that he knows must be there, lying on his bedside table.

The fingers that are not his curl around empty space.

Hux tries to calm himself, takes a deep breath meant to ground him in reality and allow his brain to process whatever it is that’s happening to him. Hallucinations perhaps, induced by his lack of sleep and extensive consumption of Tarine tea and caf.

He closes his eyes, leans back and breathes out.

"This is a dream," he whispers into the void.

_ This is no dream. _

Hux opens his eyes and it's no longer dark.

The sun burns in his eyes and he's quick to close them, blinking until he has gotten used to the merciless sunlight. Slowly, the painful brightness recedes and reveals a landscape so dreary even Hux, who grew up surrounded by the battleship grey of Star Destroyers, finds it suffocating.

He's standing in the middle of a desert valley, walls of yellow sandstone towering above him. The air is hot, burning his lungs whenever he breathes in and already he can feel the fine particles of sand creep into the creases and folds of his robes.

His robes? Looking down at himself he finds himself draped in black, the fabric heavy and richly adorned.

_ This is no dream _ , the voice in his head repeats, softly, patiently, as if talking to a child.

Hux recognizes that voice.

"Ourani!" he hisses. "What is the meaning of this?!"

For a heartbeat, nothing happens. The only sound that of the scorching desert wind rustling his clothes.

Then his hands lift on their own accord and reach out to the sky to block out the light of the sun.

_ This is Korriban _ , Ourani says, the words echoing off the walls of Hux’s mind.

"Korriban?" Hux repeats as he struggles to regain control over his body. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

Ourani's answer is a crystalline chuckle.  _ Stop that, Grand Marshal. This is not your body. It's mine. _

As if to prove her point, Ourani takes a step forward, her heavy boots sinking into the red sand.

"Your body?" Hux repeats, bewildered.

Staring at the boot, he tries to will it to move, commands every single cell of him to lift his leg, use his muscles, take a step forward. It’s to no avail.

Even his voice, he realizes, isn’t his real voice. No actual sound leaves the lips that aren’t his own. What he says, it's only in his head.

_ How? _ he demands, feeling breathless despite having no lungs.

Ourani moves again, stomping forward through the desert. Hux can feel her hot breath underneath her mask as if it’s his own.

_ I pulled your dreaming self from your body. You see what I see. Feel what I feel _ , she explains.

Hux's mind is reeling, everything he has ever learned revolting against the idea that something like this could be possible.

_ That's ridiculous _ , he argues weakly, even though he can see the desert stretch out before him, can feel the merciless heat of the planet’s single sun burn the sensitive skin on the back of his neck. All his senses are assuring him that this is indeed real.

_ It's understandable that you’d have difficulties processing all this. But I assure you it's entirely possible. And your mind is strong. You'll adjust. _

Ourani walks a few more steps, the dry wind pulling at her clothes, then she comes to a halt and takes in her surroundings.

Hux—seeing the world through her eyes—is involuntarily awed.

A Chiss sees the world differently. At first he thought this planet was little more than washed out colors of brown and yellow,  but now, looking closer, he finds that he has been mistaken. Every grain of sand is unique, some of them are the same titian shade as Hux's hair. Others are a rusty brown, not unlike blood.

_ It is blood _ , Ourani provides, having picked up on his thoughts.

He has to be more careful with what he's thinking. If what she said is true then his mind shares a space with hers now.

_ Dried blood _ , she continues, unaware of his musings.  _ Blood of the Sith who died here. Millions who were sacrificed to strengthen the power of the Dark Jedi. _

_ Dark Jedi?  _

Hux has never wasted much thought on the history of the Jedi and Sith, but walking on the spilled blood of millions, he can't deny that he's intrigued.

Ourani doesn’t answer immediately, her attention momentarily diverted by some movement to her left. 

Emerging from a cloud of sand is Cl'iio, holding a map in her hands. The paper is stained, torn in parts and Hux wonders why she would not use a holomap instead. Force-users and their eccentricities, no doubt.

_ Once, there were no Sith, no Dark Jedi, only one Jedi Order. Ten millennia they have lived in the Deep Core, growing rigid and doctrinaire. Those who refused to live such a life were expelled from the order and called the Dark Jedi or Fallen Jedi. They were the progenitors of the Sith Lords. _

_ And they came here of all places? _ Hux asks, little impressed.

Hux can feel the amusement rippling through her consciousness.  _ The planet is pulsing with power. It’s  full of potential. But you're not Force-sensitive. No doubt, for you, it's just another dead world _ .

_ Why bring me here then?  _ he asks and Ourani lifts her head so that he can see the the red-tinged clouds in the overcast sky that roll past with an unnatural velocity.

_ Isn't it obvious? You asked to be informed on any progress we might make. _

If Hux had a body, he would have scrunched up his nose in indignation.

_ An encrypted message sent to my personal datapad would have sufficed. _

Hux feels the corners of Ourani's mouth pull up in a smile as she makes her way through the harsh terrain, Cl'iio at her side.

They don’t converse and Hux wonders if it's because Ourani is mute and signing in the middle of what has grown into a sand storm is impossible or because they have other ways of communication that Hux, as a Force-null, isn’t privy to.

_ Maybe _ , Ourani admits after some time.  _ But who would pass up on a chance to see the tombs of Ludo Kressh and the Sith Lords of old _ ?

Hux certainly would have had no scruples about passing up on this particular experience if he had been so much as given a choice in the matter.

_ We'll reach the mouth of the valley soon. _ Ourani reaches out, pointing at something in the distance.  _ Already you can see the stone walls surrounding it. _

Before them the desert parts, sloping to both sides, gaping like an open wound. And so for the first and last time in his life, Armitage Hux sees the devastating emptiness of the Valley of the Dark Lords. The walls leading down are steep, unnaturally smooth and reflect the sunlight like a mirror. Overlooking part of the valley are six statues, humanoid in form, with bowed heads and hooded faces.

A shiver runs through Ourani that Hux can feel as if it's his own.

_ What you see here, stretching out before you, is the lower valley. We’ll descend there. _

She points at a spot in the distance where the walls are not quite so sleek, more ragged in appearance, like broken teeth on a nexu.

_ There used to be a natural staircase _ , Ourani explains,  _ carved out of stone by the wind and sand, long before any Dark Jedi ever set foot into the valley _ .

Ourani sounds reverent, awed even, and Hux, trapped inside her body, can feel it seep into his own self like poison.

They say little more until they reach the edge of the valley and there, on a ledge seemingly leading to nowhere, stand Melpomene and Kallio. They too are dressed in heavy cloaks, to protect them from the all-penetrating particles of sand, their faces covered by their masks.

No words are exchanged, or at least none Hux can hear, and they make their way down without further ado.

The descent is slippery and they make slow progress. Even the presence of Ourani inside Hux’s head has somewhat diminished as she concentrates on every careful step she's making. Twice she almost stumbles, swaying dangerously close to the perilous edge and Hux feels dizzy as he catches a glimpse of the valley below them.

Upon reaching the bottom of the valley, solid ground under their feet once more, the first thing Hux notices is the silence. No, he corrects himself. Not simple silence but a total absence of sound.

He reaches out to Ourani through their bond but she says nothing.

None of the Knights of Ren speak as they walk under the eerie gaze of the valley's six towering guardians, their footsteps muffled on the sandstone.

The walls are pressing in from both sides as they march onwards. Every new step feels heavier than the last and the air, tasting rank and spoiled, makes it difficult to breathe. 

From the entrance they make their way through a narrow corridor lined with razor-sharp rock cliffs, their protruding patterns throwing shadows upon ranks of what Hux assumes are the tombs of Sith Lords.

It isn’t long until the echo of Hux’s own thoughts becomes deafeningly loud inside his head. A thousand voices that are all his whisper that beg and scream, writhing in the creases of his mind, urging him to stop, to go on, to turn back, to scream, scream, scream until his lungs burst.

_ You need to stay calm, Marshal _ , Ourani's voice cuts through the chaos like a vibroblade and for a moment, Hux's head is blissfully empty.

_ What is happening here? What kind of trick is this? _ he hisses, his mind pulling and probing at Ourani's, demanding an explanation.

_ This is no trick. What you feel is the power of the Dark Side. Since you're not Force-sensitive your brain doesn't know how to process it. I need you to calm down, marshal. We're almost there. _

_ Almost there? _ Hux asks, glad for the distraction, latching onto her voice like a lifeline.

_ The Great Temple _ , Ourani says and stares into the distance.

And suddenly, though he has instinctively known it to be there all along, Hux becomes aware of the mausoleum standing at the far end of the valley. It’s gargantuan, dwarving even the two massive statues erected before its entrance.

_ These are the ruins of the temple of the Sith. You stand on the threshold of power, amid the bones of defilers and tomb robbers. _

The massive structure stretching out before Hux’s eyes is made of stone of such a deep black it swallows the burning rays of the sun. Shaped like a pyramid, he can recognize no openings for the light to slip in. 

Part of it has collapsed under the weight of debris and sand, accumulated throughout millenia of neglect, but its grandeur is undeniable. Oppressive and majestic, the temple emanates an aura of dread and power even in its derelict state. How much more impressive it must have been in its days of glory.

They quickly make their way past the columns and mummified corpses of tu'kata beasts into the long darkness of the Sith temple.   
  
For a moment, all Hux sees are vague shapes and flickering shades, then Ourani's eyes adjust. Of course, Hux thinks, a Chiss' eyes are better suited for the perpetual dark.   
  
The figures of Kallio and the others, flanking Ourani on the left and right, are glowing shapes of red and yellow, the heat they're emanating made visible by Ourani's superior eyesight.   
  
"Careful," Melpomene whispers in warning as she ignites a simple torch with a flick of her fingers, a spark of lightning crackling in the small space between her fingertips.   
  
Ourani is quick to shield her eyes, lest she'll be blinded by the sudden brightness.   
  
It's only a small flame, barely reaching past their feet before it's swallowed up by the dark again.

  
_ Why not use a glowrod? _ he asks, somewhat appalled by their primitive methods.   
  
_ It would not work here _ , Ourani replies but offers no further explanation.   
  
Unlike Hux, the knights seem to know exactly where they're going, easily avoiding pitfalls suddenly opening up before their feet and debris obstructing their path.   
  
Deeper and deeper they wander into the Sith Temple, accompanied by disembodied whispers that seem far away at times and, at others, so close Hux imagines invisible lips pressing against the shell of his ear.   
  
He considers himself a rational man, not easily intimidated, least of all by any Force-nonsense, but walking through the suffocating dark of the Great Temple of the Sith, he feels the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up in unmistakable fear.   
  
"We're here," Cl'iio says, her voice strangely muffled, as if the air itself objects to their presence.   
  
Before them the walls are broken up by a large arch, high enough that not even Melpomene, as the tallest of the knights, can reach the keystone with her arms and hands outstretched. Signs and figures are carved into it, too dim to read, and terror flows from it like a grey vapour.   
  
Behind it lies nothing but darkness so complete not even Ourani's eyes can penetrate it.   
  
_ What does she mean? We're here? _ Hux implores.   
  
Ourani breathes in the gust of air suddenly sweeping through the place, ripe with premonition.   
  
_ This is Darth Vader's tomb. _

  
Hux falls silent, his mind a whirlwind of a thousand questions.   
  
_ But Darth Vader renounced the Dark Side. His remains were buried on Endor _ , he argues. Despite his overall disdain for all things pertaining to the Force, he knows as much.   
  
_ That's true _ , Ourani agrees.  _ But this tomb was built long before Luke Skywalker convinced his father to return to the Light Side. It's a powerful place and an echo of the man Vader once was lingers still, untouched by any light. We’re hoping to find answers here. _   
  
Cutting off any further questions, Ourani steps over the threshold and into the darkness.   
  
The others are not far behind. Though Hux cannot see them, he hears their boots crunching on the uneven floor, littered with waste.   
  
Or so Hux thinks, until the flicker of the torch reflects on a polished skull. Hundreds of them cover the ground, turning to dust with a sickening crunch whenever Ourani or one of the other knights crushes them with detached indifference.

Most of the skulls are that of beasts with teeth as long as Hux's fingers. Only few of them are human. And those who are have yet to decompose entirely. The dry air has turned their skin into leather and their malformed faces are twisted into an expression of eternal agony. Their sight ignites a perverse curiosity in him.

_ It’s better not to disturb them _ , Ourani tells him, no doubt sensing his inappropriate fascination.  _ Their spirits are still anchored to this world.  _

Hux lets the topic rest.

He doesn't know how long they have walked—the sickening sound of breaking bones reduced to a static background noise after a while—when the walls on their side simply disappear.

They have set foot into a hall, Hux realizes. The air here moves more freely and smells less sickening. Melpomene steps forward, her bulking figure made even more impressive by the flickering shadows cast by the torch.

Without warning, she snaps her fingers and, for a flutter of a heartbeat, the whole hall is bathed in light, tendrons of lightning curling around columns, standing in neat rows and leading up to a ceiling so high not even Melpomene's Force-lightning can reach it.

Hux feels simultaneously lost and caged.

_ What are we waiting for? _ he presses when none of the knights show the slightest inclination to move forward.

_ Wait and see _ , Ourani tells him, her voice far away as if answering him is only an afterthought and her mind is occupied with more important matters.

In the end, Hux is left with little choice but to follow her advice.

Unprompted—though Hux can't be quite sure, the knights have other means of communication after all—Cl'iio steps forward and for the first time, Hux notices the small pendant dangling from her neck. It's a phial, the end pieces wrought of gold. Inside, a red liquid lazily sloshes against the glass. Blood, Hux's mind provides.

She pulls it off her neck with a snap and throws it to the ground, the sound of the glass shattering unnaturally loud, echoing off the far away walls of the hall.

Immediately, the smell penetrates Hux's nose, rich and pungent.

_ Kylo's blood _ , Ourani explains, answering a question Hux didn't know he had.

_ What in kriffing hells... _

_ Silence now _ , she admonishes him, gently. And Hux, strangely reminded of Rae Sloane’s firm cadence, feels compelled to obey.

He stares into the darkness, almost bored until his attention is captured by a spot in the distance not quite as impenetrably dark as the rest of the hall. A pale light, swaying from left to right like a pendulum.

The light intensifies, creeping ever closer until Hux can make out its unmistakable shape.

A lightsaber, sickenly green. And holding it is a figure Hux has seen on countless holo-screens, on cheaply made propaganda posters of the Resistance, on that fateful day on Crait.

One does not need to have met Luke Skywalker to recognize him.

He looks younger than in the many mission briefs Hux has read over the years, younger even than on Crait, his hair not quite as long, the circles underneath his eyes not as prominent. There's a mischievous spark lightening up his face that is absent in the more recent pictures and a curve to his lips that suggests good humor.

_ What’s going on here? _ Hux hisses, forgetting himself for a moment.

It is just as well, for Ourani doesn't answer him.

The specter of Luke Skywalker comes closer, deactivates his lightsaber and clips it back to his belt. All the while, his mouth is moving, though no sound makes it past his lips. Yet, Hux is certain he's not speaking to them.

He finds his suspicions confirmed when out of the shadows emerges a boy, not much older than twelve, his head crowned with a shock of black, unruly hair. His big nose is scrunched up, the brown eyes alight with childish anger and blots of ink stain his fingers. Pulling at his robes as if the garments have somehow offend him, his whole posture radiates disgruntlement.

Standing before Hux is a twelve-year-old Kylo Ren.

It seems he's arguing with Skywalker, showing too much of his crooked teeth while doing so. They're not yet the straight, pearly-white rows Hux is familiar with, and Ren’s ruddy pink cheeks haven't quite lost their baby fat.

Skywalker regards Ren with an expression of gentle exasperation, a tired sigh rattling in his chest as he kneels down in and motions for Ren to do the same.

Ren complies, albeit reluctantly.

Spoiled brat, Hux thinks. He wouldn't have survived a single cycle under Brendol's tutelage.

Both Ren and Skywalker close their eyes, their hands resting on their folded legs, palms upturned. Their robes flutter gently in an imperceptible breeze.

For a while—it’s impossible to tell for how long, time has lost all meaning since they set foot into the temple—nothing happens.

Hux cannot fault Ren when he, peeking one eye open to make sure his master is not watching, shifts on the spot, wincing as blood rushes back into his numb limbs. Not when Hux also feels himself becoming more and more agitated with every passing second.

He's quick to squash the feeling before it can tear down his impeccable control. Briefly, he entertains the thought of asking Ourani what they're waiting for but, given her previous reluctance to answer his questions, decides against it.

It starts as a gentle hum, a mere vibration in the stale air around them, like the buzz of a maze-fly. It grows into a whisper, speaking words Hux doesn't understand though feels he should. With the whispers come images of glory, of a sea of blood, the birth and death of a whole star system. And the implicit promise of power to make all this reality if only Hux would be brave enough to seize the opportunity.

The voice in his head—the one Hux instinctively knows to be the same Ren hears inside his own—is gentle at first, sweet even. But soon increases in intensity, no longer offering but demanding, their siren song twisted into bitter accusations and words of disappointment.

Ungrateful, it echoes in Hux's mind, and it's the voice of his father. Useless. Should have drowned you like that stray. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic and weak.

A litany of insults crashes over Hux. Every curse, every hurtful word his father has ever uttered, accompanied by the sting of his belt or the dull pain of his fist.

_ No _ , Hux screams, voiceless, _ I killed him. I killed Brendol. I killed Han Solo. _

He startles, confusion momentarily tearing through his conscience, rendering the booming voice blessedly silent. Though another is quick to take its place in the recesses of Hux’s mind.

_ Marshal! _

It's Ourani, speaking with such urgency Hux suspects she has tried to get through to him for quite some time now.

_ Grand Marshal, you must stop! _

Her voice threatens to be drowned out by the reinvigorated voices in his head. Or is it Ren's head?

_ Your memories are bleeding into Kylo's. You need to stop! _

Hux grunts, his lungs constricting painfully though he knows full well that he's without a body. He's close to a panic attack he realizes, disgusted with himself.

It's sheer spite and iron discipline, drilled into him through years of abuse, that keep him from losing himself in the swirling vortex of his and Ren's intertwined memories.

When he comes to again, the voice is not gone but far away, like an echo in the rain, distorted, unthreatening.

Out of the corners of his eyes he can see the Knights of Ren shift nervously,  talking to Ourani in hushed voices. But she (and Hux is uncharacteristically grateful for it) remains silent.

Hux does not deign to look at them either. Through Ourani's eyes, he looks at Ren.

And Ren, he's staring right back. Not at Ourani but at Hux. At his disembodied mind trapped inside her.

_ I see you _ , he mouths, brows furrowed.

Pain explodes behind Hux's eyelids.

 

* * *

 

He wakes with a start, his rumpled sheets clinging to his skin. He's covered in sweat and the pain creeping up his temples and settling behind his eyes is still excruciating though not quite as unbearable as before. Like a vibroblade jammed right into his eye socket.

Even the dim light of his chronometer is unbearable. Hit by a sudden wave of nausea, he stumbles out of bed and into the refresher, where he retches up the remnants of his last ration bar.

When he’s done, clutching at his upset stomach, the stench of sweat and vomit has thoroughly permeated the refresher and Hux drags himself back to his bedroom before another bout of sickness can hit him.

The blinking digits on his chronometer reveal that he has slept for eight full hours. Far too long and entirely unacceptable for a man of his standing and with his responsibilities.

Hux knows what he has to do. Get up. Shower. Wash the taste of bile out of his mouth. Get dressed and resume his position on the bridge after a customary visit to Ren's quarters.

Minutes later, he's sitting on the edge of his bed still, head lowered, hair falling into his eyes in greasy strands.

His bedroom is blessedly quiet, the only sound that of the gently thrumming engines of the  _ Huntress _ , not quite as soothing as those of the  _ Finalizer _ —Hux still feels a pang of regret when he thinks of her loss—but comforting nonetheless.

Back to where he belongs: on a Star Destroyer, with the universe stretching out beyond the transparisteel window of his suite, he would very much like to eradicate the memories of what has transpired on Korriban from his mind, write them off as a dream, as the unfortunate by-product of an overworked mind.

He can’t. He knows that the things on Korriban happened. And he knows it with the same certainty he knows that he’s Armitage Hux, Grand Marshal of the First Order, second to none but Supreme Leader Kylo Ren.

Ren. The thought comes unbidden but Hux supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, given the recent events. It’s somewhat challenging, to reconcile the man he knows with the boy he saw and after some careful consideration Hux comes to the conclusion that every attempt to do so is bound to fail.

He has always scoffed at the custom of the Sith to renounce their birth name and take a new one of their own choosing. It seemed childish, a game of make-belief.

Now, Hux thinks, he understands them a little better. Ben Solo is as little the feared leader of the Knights of Ren as Kylo Ren is the sullen boy Hux saw in Darth Vader’s tomb, and to use one’s name to describe the other would mean a disservice to both.

And yet, connecting them are the same memories.

Hux shakes his head, forcefully willing the images threatening to break to the surface of his mind away.

His datapad pings with an incoming message and, eager to leave Korriban’s shadow behind, Hux makes a grab for it.

The luminosity of the small screen cuts through Hux’s head like a knife and he can’t suppress a tormented groan. 

When his eyes have finally readjusted, the first message greeting him after he unlocks his datapad is a status report from Catar Ilin. Hux throws a glance at his chronometer and indeed: he has overslept the early check-up he himself had insisted on.

He hasn’t missed much. The Supreme Leader’s condition remains unchanged. His resting heart rate is stable. All blood levels are in normal range. He remains unresponsive to external stimuli.

A predictable result.

The pain in his head has somewhat abided and Hux gets up to prepare for the cycle.

Once he has showered and dressed, he feels more like himself, though a wisp of exhaustion still lingers. His eyes are red-rimmed, his usually pale skin waxy, stretching too tight over his high cheekbones, like the leathery skin on the mummified corpses on Korriban.

He hisses and turns away from the reflection in the mirror.

Normally, he'd take it upon himself to assure himself of Catar Ilin's assessment of the situation and check on Ren first. This time, his steps lead him directly to the bridge, where he's welcomed with the respect befitting a superior officer.

"Grand Marshal," Mitaka greets as Hux comes to stand next to him, arms at parade rest. "I take it the conference with High Command went well?"

Hux is almost touched by Mitaka's willingness to make up excuses for his absence, though he deems it unnecessary.

Nobody would have dared question his lateness anyway, neither with a curious glance nor a raised brow, and Hux isn't so naive as to believe that the men and women on the bridge can't see through Mitaka's little ruse. The thought is appreciated nonetheless.

He nods and the tension drains from Mitaka's face.

“Exceptionally well, Captain. Thank you.”

Letting his gaze wander, Hux is pleased to find everything in perfect working order.

He spends both the Alpha and Beta shift on the bridge, overseeing slight adjustments to their course and test runs of their newly-repaired shields. It's pleasantly undemanding work and it takes his mind off Ren and the knights who have yet to return from their mission.

According to Mitaka they're not scheduled to return within this cycle, but their exact time of arrival remains a mystery.

Hux can't say that he minds. The longer they stay off his ship, the better for his already frayed nerves.

He excuses himself from the bridge one-third into the Gamma shift, tired but in an exceptionally better mood compared to when he had first arrived.

Right until the moment he runs into Phasma on his way to the turbolifts.

"Sir," she says and steps with him into the turbolift. It’s clear she has not come for idle chitchat.

"This is an ambush," he remarks dryly. 

She nods, entirely unapologetic about her insolence and eyes him through the tinted eye-slits of her helmet. "Something is not as it should be.”

"Is that so?" Hux asks, adjusting his gloves.

Phasma's intuition has always been impeccable and so there is little point in lying, yet Hux is reluctant to confide in her, when her knowing about Ren’s condition would do little to help him solve that particular predicament.

Capable as she undoubtedly is, Hux knows that her loyalty lies first and foremost with herself. Every admittance of weakness would only serve to give her more leverage against him.

And still, he can't deny the fondness he has for her that goes beyond simple gratitude for instigating Brendol's demise.

"With all due respect," she says, tone unchanged, "it's quite obvious that something has happened to Supreme Leader Ren. He hasn't left his quarters in over three cycles and the men are starting to ask questions. Ren has endeared himself to them quite successfully with his public training sessions."

"They're not trained to ask questions," Hux snaps.

Phasma is unimpressed by his little outburst. "Have you killed him?"

It's no accusation and there’s no misguided indignation to her voice. She asks out of mere curiosity.

“No,” Hux finally says. “He attempted some kind of Force-ritual that backfired on him. He has been diagnosed as brain-dead.”

"That's unfortunate."

He snorts. "To put it mildly, yes. The Knights of Ren are currently on a mission to Korriban. They're hoping to find a cure there, as they believe Ren's condition to be some kind of Force-related illness. I doubt they'll be successful."

"Do you want them to be?"

Hux throws Phasma a look. Though the implications weigh heavily in the air, Hux senses no threat coming from her.

"I would prefer for the Supreme Leader to make a full recovery. It would mean a devastating blow to morale if the Order were to lose two of their leaders in such quick succession."

He's surprised to find that he means it. Pausing, he regards his own reflection in the polished surface of Phasma's helmet. He looks haggard and pale but determined.

"I'll leave it to you to dispel the troops’ worries. How you achieve that is up to you. But no word of this to any of them."

"Of course," Phasma agrees.

Hux allows himself a small smile as a gentle ping announces the turbolift’s arrival on their designated floor. He turns around, ready to leave, and comes face to face with Terpo Ren.

"They're here," they announce without preamble and Hux can barely resist the temptation to roll his eyes at the knight’s theatrics.

He steps out of the lift, Phasma on his heels, and places himself in front of Terpo.

"Who is?" he hisses but Terpo barely acknowledges him. "Aren't you supposed to guard your master?"

That at last coaxes a reaction out of the knight. Pale eyes flashing, they glare at Hux—and how he relishes their obvious anger at having to look up at him—and pushes their chin out in defiance.

"My sisters have returned," they say and skip past Hux with unnatural agility.

"That's impossible. Their scheduled arrival--"

Too late, the doors of the turbolift are closing already and the last Hux sees of Terpo Ren is their smugly smiling face as he’s left behind, his mouth hanging open like a fool’s. He swallows down the lump of fury and humiliation forming in his throat and marches on.

Phasma’s clicking steps are right behind him. "Sir, should we not welcome them on board? They might have relevant intel."

Hux waves her off. "They have found nothing worth reporting. But go and oversee their arrival. I will retire to my quarters."

She doesn't question him, simply turns to carry out his orders. The perfect soldier.

When she’s gone, his steps do not lead him to his quarters but to Ren’s.


	9. Sweet Pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Damn you, Ren," he mumbles, eyes still on the other. Even unconscious and presumed brain-dead the man remains a thorn in Hux’s side.
> 
> It would be so easy; to close his hands around Ren's thick neck and end things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) for whipping this whole thing into shape.
> 
> And thank you, [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for holding my hand throughout all of this and saving me from more mental breakdowns than I could count.
> 
> All of you who took the time to read and comment: I love you.  
> 

VIII

 

 

Looking down at Kylo Ren, at the way he lies in bed with his hair neatly combed (either Thaleia or Terpo must have done it), Hux finds himself conflicted.

The Knights of Ren have failed on Korriban. Hux has seen it; there was nothing in Vader's tomb but shadows and vague memories.

It's undeniable that their failure had held a certain satisfaction, considering how overconfident the knights had been, so convinced that the Force would be the key to Ren's recovery. But that satisfaction rings hollow now and leaves only the taste of ash on the tip of Hux's tongue.

"Damn you, Ren," he mumbles, eyes still on the other. Even unconscious and presumed brain-dead the man remains a thorn in Hux’s side.

It would be so easy; to close his hands around Ren's thick neck and end things.

Hux moves to the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he puts a knee up on the sheets and bends over Ren.

This close it's easier to imagine that Ren used to be that boy Hux saw on Korriban. There's the same, defiant curve of his mouth, the same pair of too big ears hidden underneath a cascade of dark hair.

Hux trails a fingertip down the ragged line of Ren's scar. As he reaches his cheek, he stutters to a halt, his finger coming to rest dangerously close to the corner of Ren's mouth, the same corner Hux could swear has just twitched in response to his touch.

A quick glance at the medical monitor reveals that nothing has changed, the line indicating Ren’s brain activity still as flat as it has been for the last three cycles.

But Hux knows what he has seen. Ever so carefully, with his eyes trained on Ren's mouth, he touches the same spot again. Ren doesn’t stir.

How foolish, he berates himself, to think that a mere touch could bring Ren back to life when all the medical expertise of the First Order could not.

Frustrated and not above taking it out on a defenseless Ren, Hux digs his nails into the thick flesh of his scar.

Again, no reaction. Hux could tear open the tender skin and--

He's sinking. Downward into the stygian dark. His lungs fill with water and yet he finds he can still breathe. Around him, the water lightens from dark to red and amid this blood red sea gnarled roots clamber around one another.

Lower and lower he sinks until he reaches the murky bottom and his body comes to rest in black silt, curls of dark smoke rising around him, welcoming him in a tender embrace.

Hux blinks and through the red fog he sees a woman. No, not a woman, a girl, her skin sunkissed and golden, her hair pulled up in a simple bun. He knows her: the scavenger girl.

Her brown eyes widen in surprise as she becomes gradually aware of him before they narrow into slits as realization hits her.

"You!"

Well, Hux supposes she has heard of him. Starkiller they call him in in the Resistance. A title well-deserved.

"What are you doing here, Ben?"

Ben?

Hux raises a brow.

The girl, Rey, if he remembers correctly, looks straight at him and yet her eyes do not seem to reach him, as if there's a shadow suspended in the air between them.

His mouth moves on its own accord, speaking words that aren't his, in a voice not his own.

"You will tell me where you and the Resistance scum are hiding," he commands.

Reaching out with one hand, he extends his will, forcing her to submit.

For the duration of a heartbeat, she yields and the empty space surrounding her explodes into colors and light, the dark masses of water pulling back like the tide to reveal grey stone and willowy trees, their branches weighed down by a steady downpour of rain.

The vision breaks apart into nothingness a moment later and the water swallows up the stones and trees like an angry beast, devouring until there's nothing left but the girl.

She resists him, he realizes. Since their last encounter not much time has passed but she has become stronger still. Her mind fights back against the intrusion.

"I see you, Ben," she hisses out between clenched teeth.

He can feel her lashing out, her raw, untrained power crashing against the fortifications of his mind.

She's not strong enough. On Starkiller Base, she had surprised him but here he will not allow her another glimpse at his most inner thoughts.

Nonetheless, her stamina is impressive. He has to give her that much, her attack constant and unwavering.

"You think you can best me in a battle of wills?" he barks at her.

"No," she admits, determination burning bright within her. "At least not alone."

Confusion settles in his gut and then he feels it: a shift in her powers, in the signature of her aura.

She's not alone. A second power winds around hers, not as bright but more mature, a steady pulse where hers is an erratic lightning.

He knows that aura.

Organa.

Rage ignites in his chest, a hatred so bright he feels like the blood in his veins has been replaced by liquid fire.

Howling, he attacks again. He will crush her, eviscerate her with his powers, turn her flesh inside out until she's nothing but an empty husk, her mind turned to dust.

Too late, he realises as a tendril of energy wedges itself in between his mental shields, slipping past his defenses like a writhing worm.

No.

He can't push back, it's already inside him, rummaging through his mind and memories, leeching on his inner thoughts.

Panic overtakes him, interlaced with naked fear and, in his desperation, he remembers a lesson received long ago, when he had been a boy still and the voices inside his head so loud they threatened to break him.

He remembers.

With a scream, he forces her out, forces Organa out, and closes his mind off to the outside world.

 

* * *

 

When Hux comes back to his senses he finds himself pinned to the ground, with Kylo Ren's massive body holding him down.

His hands are around Hux's throat, easily encompassing it in its entirety, not quite choking him but firm enough to constitute an unmistakable warning. He’s naked from the waist up, his chest heaving, and Hux has to swallow down the lump forming in his throat at the sight of those hulking muscles, the way they ripple with barely suppressed strength.

Ren doesn't speak but his fingers flex nervously around Hux's neck, as if he can't quite decide whether to crush Hux’s larynx or not.

He has the look of a cornered animal, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

Having grown up in a world where the slightest misstep led to painful consequences, Hux knows when to tread carefully.

"Ren," he says, lowering his voice to a gentle whisper, "listen to my voice. You know who I am. I pose no threat to you."

The pressure around Hux's throat increases.

This twice-cursed son of a nerf-herder!

Hux refuses to die like this, strangled to death by a half-naked man-child not in full command of his mental faculties. But Ren doesn’t budge.

His eyes are wide and unseeing. His mouth twitches in a feral snarl. He won't listen.

With a growl, Hux collects all his strength and backhands Ren with such vicious abandon, Ren's neck makes a sickening cracking noise as his head snaps to the side.

Silence fills the room.

Hux cannot tell what kind of expression Ren is wearing, the thick curtain of his black hair obscuring the view, but at last the pressure around Hux’s neck is lifted and Ren relaxes his grip. Though Ren's hands never quite relinquish their hold on Hux, he can breathe more freely again.

When Ren turns to face him, there's blood dripping from his torn lip.

A single drop slides down Ren's chin, clinging to the curve of his jaw, half-suspended in the air, before gravity takes its toll and it falls.

It lands in the corner of Hux's mouth where it settles in the curve of his lips.

Instinctively, Hux parts his lips, the tip of his tongue peaking out to lap up the blood. His eyes never leave Ren's as he swallows.

The tang of Ren's blood is heady as it slides down his throat, tasting of iron, more so than it probably should and Hux wonders if the blood of all Force-users tastes like this: powerful.

Ren is watching him intently, or better, he’s watching the movement of Hux's tongue, taking in the ruby red of Hux's lips, stained with his own blood.

It intrigues him, judging from the widening of his pupils and the flaring nostrils.

He's a beast, Hux thinks, not for the first time, though for once it's not disgust that accompanies that thought, not revulsion that runs like a shiver down his spine.

Hux thinks about kissing him, about sucking the blood right from his lips and pulling at the tender flesh until it's bruised and purple.

Ren would allow it. Probably.

He gets no chance to test his theory.

As if hit by a stun blast, his muscles convulse painfully and he finds himself helpless under Ren.

The doors to his quarters open with a screech, not via the automatic sliding mechanism but by means of the force.

From his position on the ground Hux can make out little more than blurred shadows, not even when Ren rolls off him and gets up to his feet.

"Master!" he recognizes Thaleia's voice, though he has never quite heard her speak with such frantic reverence, no trace of her usual exuberance to be heard.

He has little interest in what she has to say to Ren and misses most of their conversation as he struggles to break his invisible shackles. It's a touching reunion, he’s sure.

It’s Thaleia holding him down, not Ren. Hux has been on the receiving end of too many of Ren's magical tricks to not notice the fine differences in their powers.

Where Kylo is raw power and brutal domination, she’s more in control of her actions, albeit weaker in overall strength. Hux might be able to overcome her.

Focusing all his strength on his paralyzed limbs, he manages to escape her hold long enough to get up on wobbly knees.

With Ren's blood clinging to his lips, Hux glares at Thaleia, sorely tempted to pull his blaster on her and plaster her brain to the walls.

Her mouth falls open as she notices him but she is quick to try and force him back into submission.

Surprisingly enough, it's Ren who puts an end to it, simply by putting an arm between Hux and his knight.

Immediately, the presence tugging at Hux’s consciousness recedes. Thaleia would not dare defy her master after all, though her expression leaves no doubt concerning her feelings regarding the matter. And she’s not afraid to make her displeasure known.

"Master," she protests, her small, sharp teeth glinting in the artificial light, "he attacked you."

Hux scoffs at the baseless accusation but doesn't bother to defend himself against it.

Meanwhile, Ren hasn’t moved. He stands motionless, though the bottomless rage rattling in his bones is palpable even to Hux.

"Do you think me so weak that I could not defeat a man like him?!"

Thaleia's expression falls, her throat working as she swallows.

"No, master. I didn't mean to imply--"

Ren cuts her off.

"Out," he commands. And it's clear he won't ask a second time.

She goes, spine stiff as she bows before Ren. As she leaves, she throws Hux a look of pure vitriol, as if he's to blame for her master's displeasure with her.

Hux returns it with a haughty smile.

Once she's gone, he takes a look at Ren and asks: “Do you really think I could not kill you if I wanted to?”

It’s a rare instance of honesty between them: Hux admitting to his murderous intentions and Ren acknowledging them with a curt nod. He’s not afraid, no even perturbed but Hux hasn’t expected him to be.

"Sit with me," he mumbles, paying Hux’s thinly veiled threats no mind. He doesn’t wait before he turns around and leaves the bedroom and Hux behind.

He's still shirtless.

Left with no other choice, Hux follows Ren into the living area, where he sits down in one of the only two chairs the room provides.

Ren does the same. And then nothing. Silence stretches between them, heavy with unsaid words and stifling in its severity.

Hux rubs a thumb over a dent in the armrest of his chair. It's the same chair Ren had hurled at him when Hux informed him that chasing after the Rebel scum was out of the question. It feels like a lifetime ago.

"You were inside my head."

Hux snaps back to attention, staring at Ren who returns his gaze with steady calm, his thick lashes impossibly dark against his pale skin.

"Not voluntarily," Hux is quick to explain. "Believe me when I say I would have preferred not to. I had enough dealings with that Force-nonsense of yours to last me a lifetime."

It’s not just an empty phrase; Hux's mind is still reeling with the implications of what the events of the past cycles mean for himself and his relation to Ren and his Force-mysticism.

Hux is no fool. He knows the Force is real, but he has always considered it to be nothing but the last echo of a dead religion. A memory at best, some ancient knowledge held by a selected few, primitive and riddled with superstitions, meant to die, to make way for the cold reliability of technology.

But on Korriban, the Force had been alive and well, even if its former wielders were not, and though Hux experienced the living Force only through Ourani's body, he can hardly repudiate the obvious truth.

"You saw Darth Vader's tomb."

Ren's voice brings Hux's racing thoughts to a screeching halt.

"I want you to tell me what you saw."

The request doesn’t come as a surprise—Ren’s unhealthy obsession with his late grandfather is well-known—and so Hux's first instinct is to deny him.

"Wouldn't one of your underlings be more suited to the task, Supreme Leader? Force-null that I am, and which you have never failed to remind me of at every given opportunity, I doubt I can give a sufficient recount of the events."

The corners of Ren's mouth twitch in semblance of a smile.

"But you are one of my underlings, Grand Marshal. Are you not?"

Granted, Hux brought this upon himself but, apart from a disgruntled twitch of his nose, he refuses to show any outward signs of irritation.

“Be that as it may, I'm sure Ourani would be pleased to tell you everything you wish to know. After all, I have only seen it through her eyes, as she used her powers to let me experience the...beauty of Korriban,” he says.

Ren leans forward in his chair, fixing him with an intensity in his brown eyes that leaves Hux feeling exposed, naked even, though it’s Ren who’s sitting across him with his upper body bared.

"Do you think you're the only one who caught an involuntary glimpse at another's thoughts?" he asks. "You cannot delve deep into another's mind and expect not to reveal part of your own. Not without being trained to resist such intrusion."

Hux's expression darkens and he sits up straighter, his spine so rigid it hurts.

"What are you implying?"

Ren falls back into his chair, the sudden move drawing Hux's eyes to the broad planes of his chest.

"Don't play the fool, Grand Marshal. We both know you're not. And now tell me of Korriban."

There's no arguing with Ren, not in this, and so Hux resigns himself to his fate and begins a recount of the events on Korriban. He makes sure to keep his voice dispassionate, his sentences clipped, not unlike he would have given a report.

Ren listens without interrupting him, attentive despite Hux's dreary mode of delivery.

It goes on like this for a while, with Hux's droning voice filling the empty room, unil his tale reaches the events that had unfolded inside Vader's tomb.

It's nothing but a hitch in his otherwise level voice, an infinitesimal pause in between two sentences, but Ren latches onto it like a bloodhound, easily identifying it as the hesitation it is.

"You saw Skywalker."

Hux doesn't ask him how he knows, doesn't care to.

"I saw you. Or to be more precise, I saw a memory of yours."

The expression overtaking Ren's infuriating features at these words is a curious one. Not quite anger, though that always lurks right underneath the surface of his eyes, neither surprise nor confusion but an intriguing mix of all these emotions.

Ren purses his lips, working his jaw in a grinding motion that only serves to underline the already sensual curve of his mouth more.

After a long time of them saying nothing, he seems to have come to a decision and when he looks up at Hux, his face is marred by an expression of such vulnerability Hux is in equal parts disgusted and terrified.

 _Don't do something we'll both come to regret_ , he thinks. But either Ren is not eavesdropping on his loudly projected thoughts for once, or he has chosen to ignore them.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than Hux has ever heard it.

"When he was still a boy, weak and foolish and plagued by nightmares, Luke Skywalker would teach Ben Solo how to cloak his mind and shield himself from the outside, from others, even from technical devices. It was an old Light Side technique. The Jedi called it Ayna-seff, _Dead Brain_. Ben Solo learned it in two days. It helped silence the voices. For a while."

Hux listens to all this with increasing irritation. What does he care what kind of magical lessons they had taught Ren at Jedi school?

Seething remark already on the tip of his tongue, Hux's thoughts stutter to a halt as, suddenly, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

"Are you telling me," he says, voice strained, "that you masked your brain activity with some kind of Jedi trick?"

Ren's hubris really knows no bounds. For cycles, Hux has worked tirelessly to uphold an illusion of normalcy on the _Huntress_. All while Ren did what? Take a nap?

Incapable of hiding his irritation any longer, Hux glares openly at Ren.

Ren growls, jaw working as he grinds his teeth together. "You think I would have voluntarily left the Order in your hands?"

Hux exhales loudly through his nose.

"What was it then, Ren? Please enlighten me. I'm dying to hear that explanation."

"It was an accident!" it bursts out of him.

Hux blinks, struck speechless.

"The scavenger girl," Ren goes on, "When I attempted to reestablish the bond, she fought back and tried to invade my mind. I had to defend myself. To use Ayna-seff had been no conscious decision. I had all but forgotten about it."

He's lying. Or at least, he's not telling Hux the whole truth. It wasn't the girl alone who had fought him but Organa as well.

Hux wisely keeps that tidbit of knowledge to himself. Any mention of Ren's estranged mother would surely not bode well for him.

"Why did your knights not know this. Why could they not identify this technique?" he asks instead.

Ren, looking strangely abashed, simply shrugs.

“None but Terpo had been trained by Skywalker before joining the Dark Side. And she had been too young then, to be taught such a technique.”

That's why they had to go to Korriban. That's why they had to spill Ren's blood in his grandfather's tomb. Because they had hoped to learn what Ren had learned when he was a pupil of Skywalker still.

Unbidden, the memories of what had transpired in that forsaken tomb come flooding back to the forefront of Hux's mind: the memories of Ben Solo mingling with his own, the disapproving voice of Brendol booming in his head.

And all of it because Ren couldn't control his powers.

"Hux, your father--"

"Don't," Hux hisses, giving Ren no chance to finish that sentence.

Against all of Hux's expectations, Ren does fall silent, his mouth snapping shut with a resounding click.

Instead of speaking, he now tries to reach out with the Force. Hux feels him lurking on the edge of his perception, reaching out with incorporeal fingers as he tries to pluck the dirty secrets of Hux's life from his mind.

Ren's newfound interest in Hux's past is disconcerting, no doubt provoked by some ill-conceived notion of solidarity upon discovering their equally disappointing days of childhood.

Camaraderie is the last thing Hux wants or needs from Ren.

"Get out of my head," he demands, voice low in his throat.

If Ren experiences any kind of shame at being found out thus, then he hides it well. More likely is it that he's utterly devoid of any such scruples.

"I’ve seen the things you try to hide in the twisted corners of your mind,” Ren says, voice barely above a whisper, his face rigid with a tension Hux can't quite place. “The things that have been done to you. The things you have done."

Hux straightens in his seat, refusing to let Ren intimidate him in such a way.

"Then surely there's no need to violate my privacy any further," he snaps. "I don't care what you think you’ve seen when rummaging around in my head. I don't care about the Jedi or the Sith or Skywalker. I don't care about any of it."

Ren stares at him in open disbelief, eyes flashing bright with anger.

"You witnessed the great power of Korriban and the Sith and yet you deny it?"

"Don't twist my words, Ren. I don't deny anything. I have simply opted not to care anymore. Let it all burn. Let them burn."

Ren swallows, his Adam's apple moving in his throat, making the scar trailing down his neck writhe like a snake.

It's clear he wants to say something but Hux has heard enough.

He has no desire to listen to any more tales about Ben Solo or to hear what Ren thinks of Hux's own father. Doesn't want to think about how they both used to be nothing but helpless, feeble boys, terrified of their own shadows and the voices inside their heads. He wants Ren to shut up.

Burning with determination, Hux gets up from his seat and shrugs off his greatcoat. For what he's about to do, it would only be a hindrance.

When he comes to a halt in front of Ren, he wastes no time before he nudges his feet apart, forcing him to widen his stance, and then drops to his knees in between the massive thighs.

Ren's eyes dilate as he watches Hux between his legs, his pupils so black the seem to drown out the freckled brown of his irises. There's confusion in those eyes, overshadowed by the unmistakable glint of lust.

Good. Hux can work with that.

He makes quick work of the zipper of Ren's ridiculously high-waisted pants, fumbling a little to get them low enough down his hips to free Ren's cock.

It's an impressive specimen, even in it's half-hard state, but Hux would rather bite off his own tongue than admit as much in front of Ren. Never one to back down from a challenge, Hux leans down and closes his lips over the thick cock, sucking Ren down to the best of his abilities.

It proves an effective distraction, just as predicted.

Ren's fingers tighten in his hair, ruining the carefully coiffed hairstyle, much to Hux's annoyance, but at least he's not asking any more inane questions.

It has been a while since Hux had last performed this particular act and Ren is bigger than initially assumed, which quickly becomes apparent when he hardens further in Hux’s mouth.

Threatening to choke, Hux pulls off with a wet plop.

The sight of Ren's hard cock, curving slightly to the right and covered in Hux's saliva is positively obscene. And it doesn't fail to make his stomach tighten with arousal.

And Ren? He looks awed, mouth slack with pleasure, his hands shaking where they're still buried in Hux's hair.

He doesn't speak and Hux is glad for it. To hear that deep voice go hoarse with need, possibly gasp his name, Hux doubts he could endure it.

This is no more than a distraction and Hux intends to treat it as such.

Stubbornly ignoring his own erection tenting the front of his regulation jodhpurs, Hux swallows Ren down a second time and makes sure to curl his tongue around the leaking head, lapping up precome and sweat.

Underneath Hux's hands, resting on either of Ren's thighs, Ren is shaking. He's too big for Hux to suck him down completely, though not for the lack of trying, and his efforts are rewarded with a breathy moan that sends a tingle of pleasure rushing down Hux's spine.

Ren's inexperience is startlingly obvious. In the way his hips twitch with every little swirl of Hux's tongue. How he's already close to bursting after so little time, hard and desperate from just Hux's lips around his cock. How he thrusts up every once in a while to try and force Hux to take him deeper, with no regards to Hux own comfort.

This might even be the first time another has touched Ren in such a way. Already, Hux can feel the tell-tale twitch of Ren's cock against his tongue.

A quick glance up at Ren's face reveals that he has closed his eyes and thrown his head back, baring his long, pale throat.

A tempting sight, if only Hux had not taken off his greatcoat with his cortosis blade hidden in a secret fold of his sleeve.

"Hux..."

Ren's voice is soft, barely audible over the lewd sucking noises Hux doesn't bother to curb.

He pulls off Ren and it earns him a displeased growl.

"Look at me," Hux demands and curls his long fingers around the base of Ren's cock.

The effect is instantaneous. Ren's eyes snap open, his irises barely visible with how wide his pupils are. Hux is shaking with excitement, his stomach tightening with lust at the debauched sight Ren makes, all because of him.

Who would have thought that his hand around Ren's cock was all it took to inspire some obedience in the Supreme Leader?

With Ren's eyes firmly fixed on his face, Hux resumes his activities, pleasuring Ren with both his hands, jerking him in quick, rough strokes, and his tongue that he presses against the pulsing vein on the underside of Ren's cock.

When Ren comes, he does so with the whole of his body. A flush has spread from his ears down to the broad planes of his chest and his thighs are shaking with the effort to keep seated and not thrust forward into empty air.

Thick ropes of come paint Hux's skin, clinging to his pale lashes like pearls. With Ren's hand still grabbing him by his hair and keeping him in place, all Hux can do is take it.

He swallows as much of the salty come as he can, licking even more of it out of the corners of his mouth.

Ren's eyes never leave his face.

It's somewhat flattering: that slack-jawed expression, the sheer wonder in Ren's eyes but Hux isn't one to indulge in such things for very long.

The act has served its purpose.

He gets up, overly aware of the drying come pulling on his skin, and turns to retrieve his coat when Ren's long fingers clamp around his wrist.

"Is there something else you require of me, Supreme Leader?"

His voice is mostly controlled, though the raw edge in it is undeniable. And he's still hard in his pants.

Ren's hold on him tightens incrementally and his heated gaze is on Hux's crotch. How unspeakably rude.

As if reading Hux's mind—and maybe he is—Ren's eyes snap up, settling on Hux's defiled face instead.

“Being on your knees for me, it excites you?”

Anger mingles with Hux's unrelenting arousal. He tries to squirm out of Ren's firm grip, only for the other to hold onto him tighter.

“If you think I'll stand here and let you insult me--"

Ren's eyes flash with a spark of his infamous temper and soon after Hux finds himself in Ren's lap, his clothed erection pressing against the hard planes of Ren's stomach.

“You're misunderstanding," Ren murmurs, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of Hux's thigh. “Let me return the favor.”

Such unexpected chavalry finds Hux at a loss for words. Too late does he notice the hand that curls around his waist; too late the fingers that slide down the front of his jodhpurs and between his legs. Ren's hand settles comfortably over his trapped erection, his palm easily spanning over Hux's crotch as he starts to rub against him in slow circles.

A breathy moan escapes him despite his best intentions and Ren replies in kind, growling when Hux squirms in his lap.

The friction against Hux's trapped erection is relief and torture at once.

“Have you ever even done this before?” he asks, trying and failing to hold onto the last shreds of his dignity.

“No,” Ren admits, “but I'm a fast learner.”

Hux isn’t given the opportunity to challenge that questionable self-assessment.

Meanwhile, Ren's hand has found its way inside his pants, grabbing Hux through his underwear.

Ren's grip is too firm, his experimental strokes too rough and the fabric of Hux's briefs clings uncomfortably to the leaking tip of his cock. All the same, every touch pulls another involuntary moan from Hux.

He can feel Ren's eyes on him, watching every miniscule shift in his expression. Ren is attentive, Hux has to give him that. Whenever a particularly pleasant twist of his wrist makes Hux sucks in a shuddering breath, Ren makes sure to do it again. He takes his time discovering the many noises he can pull from Hux and only moves his underwear out of the way when it's thoroughly drenched with precome. Hux will have to incinerate it later.

He doesn't take it off completely, just pulls it down far enough that the elastic band snaps in place right underneath Hux's balls when Ren finally lets go of it.

The slight sting of the elastic makes Hux jump and he glares at Ren but is paid no mind.

Ren's head is lowered, eyes fixed on the straining erection between Hux's legs. Hux doesn't consider himself an exhibistionist but the intense scrutiny has his cock twitching.

A pearl of precome beads at the tip and Ren, with the bold curiosity of the inexperienced, reaches out and rubs the tip of his thumb over the slit, smearing the sticky substance all over Hux's cockhead.

Hux bites down on his tongue until he can taste blood.

This miniscule touch, just Ren exploring the shape of his hard cock, is enough to bring Hux to the brink of orgasm.

No touch from somebody as inexperienced as Ren should provoke such a powerful response.

Hux curses under his breath when Ren, seemingly satisfied with his thorough investigation, shows some rare mercy and start to jerk Hux in earnest.

Ren's technique is sloppy, the rhythm of his hands sluggish and yet, every upstroke has Hux mewling.

Blinking his eyes open—Hux hasn't realized he had closed them—he looks between their bodies, down to where Ren holds him in that relentless grip. He likes to think that he is of adequate size but Ren's hand easily encompasses the entirety of his shaft.

It feels infuriatingly good and Hux can feel the first tingle of his orgasm at the base of his spine.

Even through the haze of his lust-fogged mind Hux knows that his body's intense reactions are far from normal.

“What are you doing, Ren?” he hisses.

Ren doesn't answer. Instead, he twists his wrist in a move that has Hux screaming and his thighs shaking.

The pleasure is overwhelming, painfully so, and everything in Hux screams at him to succumb to it, to abandon common sense and lose all inhibitions.

Hux is not as weak-willed as Ren seems to believe.

Groaning, Hux reaches between them and grabs Ren by the wrist, forcing him to still his movements.

“What,” he hisses as Ren looks up and regards him with unconcealed irritation, “are you doing? And don't insult my intelligence by pretending not to know what I'm talking about.”

If Hux didn’t know any better he would say that Ren is embarrassed.

“I use the Force to heighten your arousal, to increase your pleasure.”

Hux blinks. Of all the things Ren is capable of, he has not expected him to use his powers for such lewd purposes.

Slowly, a sly smile spreads on Hux's face and he releases Ren's wrist.

“Well then,” he says, arching his back and pushing his hips against Ren's spent cock, still hanging from his unzipped pants. “Resume your work.”

Ren's eyes flash in warning but he does as he has been told nonetheless.

This time, when the pleasure of Ren's hand is near blinding in its intensity, Hux allows himself to sink into it, to take everything Ren is giving him.

He's close, his stomach tightening with the first waves of his approaching orgasm.

Ren must feel it as well, for he increases the pace with which he jerks Hux off, his other hand pressing against the small of his back to ensure that Hux doesn't slide off his lap in the throws of passion.

Hux comes with a cry that is cut short by Ren's mouth on his. Moving lower, he starts to lap at the remains of come on Hux’s face, cleaning him up and forcing their lips together to allow their tastes to mingle.

Their third kiss is just as unskilled as their first but Hux allows Ren this small indulgence, placated by the aftermath of his orgasm.

Neither of them speaks after.

Hux prefers it that way. Ren's reciprocation came as a surprise and wasn't part of Hux already hastily concocted plan. If one could even call it such. It was impulsive, reckless, and far from his usual modus operandi.

It was a pleasant experience nonetheless and Ren has, so far, refrained from asking any further questions concerning Hux's upbringing and relationship with his father.

What possessed him to inquire in the first place remains a mystery to Hux. Surely, it could have been neither pity nor honest curiosity.

Ren has always been arrogant, self-absorbed, utterly indifferent to the plights of others. Hux doesn’t think his tongue is talented enough to transform a man into a paragon of virtue so there must be other reasons for Ren’s sudden interest.

"Your thoughts are so loud. You think too much,"

Ren's voice is dark, laced with a bone-deep satisfaction that surprises him. Contentment seems ill-fitted to Ren, like a coat too tight at the seams and Hux wonders how long it will take until it tears and his usual temper bursts forth again.

Hux presses his tongue against the back of his teeth, tracing the last remnants of Ren's taste as he shifts on the man's lap.

"One of us has to," he says with barely any heat behind his words.

If Ren notices the deviation then he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he tightens his hold on Hux's waist and presses their sweat-drenched bodies closer together.

"I haven't forgotten what I've seen, Hux," he mumbles, his breath ghosting over the sensitive shell of Hux's ear. "And you will answer my questions."

Hux jumps when Ren's teeth bury themselves in the junction of his neck, not deep enough to cause any lasting damage but enough to leave a mark that will serve as a constant reminder of their encounter.

When Ren releases him, Hux pulls back, poised already to snap at him and his audacity.

“Sleep now," Ren tells him, waving a hand in front of Hux’s face.

The words die on his tongue. Darkness engulfs Hux like a blanket and then he knows no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a possibility I'll be homeless soon so updates might be irregular for a time. Wish me luck that it doesn't come to that though.
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> Feel free to scream at me in the comments or on [tumblr](http://staticraining.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/StaticRaining).


	10. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ren has not touched him since that last, debauched encounter but Hux can see the urge to do so burning in his eyes. He wonders what it is that makes Ren refrain from giving into the desire that’s so cleary written on his face. Surely, he must know by now that Hux is not entirely averse to it.
> 
> "Is there something you require, Supreme Leader?" he asks, eyes half-lidded as he returns Ren's gaze with fluttering lashes and a teasing lilt to his voice.
> 
> "Yes," Ren says, leaning in so close Hux can feel his breath ghosting over his skin. "Tell me about your father."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the weeklong delay! But I'm back now and luckily not homeless!
> 
> Thank you, [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) for whipping this whole thing into shape.
> 
> And thank you, [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for holding my hand throughout all of this and saving me from more mental breakdowns than I could count.  
> All of you who took the time to read and comment: I love you.  
> 
> 
>  **Warnings for this chapter:** Detailed descriptions of past child abuse.

IX

 

He awakens in a bed not his own, naked from the waist up, his dignity only preserved by his regulation briefs.

Surprisingly enough Hux feels comfortable, that is, apart from an unpleasant, furry feeling on his tongue and a sheen of dried sweat on his skin that's beginning to itch. Other than that, he'd even go so far as to say that he's well-rested. Probably for the first time in weeks.

Though his pleasant mood quickly deteriorates when he catches sight of Ren's heavy cape slung carelessly over a lone chair and the memories of what has transpired between them come crashing to the forefront of his mind with hammering force.

Ren used his mythical powers. First, to pleasure him and then, after the deed was done, to render him unconscious.

The first Hux can forgive—it had been quite a remarkable sensation once the initial shock of Ren abusing his powers in such ways had worn off. However, forcing him to sleep (and succeeding in manipulating him so) has Hux seething with anger. Though if he’s being honest with himself then it shouldn’t surprise him that Ren uses such cheap tricks to avoid any possible confrontation.

Incensed, Hux untangles his limbs from the thin sheets and gets up, shivering when his naked feet touch the cool surface of the durasteel floor.

The layout of Ren's quarters is similar to his own and he makes his way to where he suspects he adjacent refresher when a gaggle of voices has him coming to an abrupt halt.

They're muffled by the doors that separate bedroom and living area, but among them, Ren's velveteen baritone is unmistakable.

Sensing an opportunity, Hux moves forward, careful not to make any noise. But the voices fall silent before Hux can get close enough to discern any words or meaning.  
  
A moment later, the doors slide open to reveal a glowering Kylo Ren.  
  
Behind him, his knights are standing at attention, their faces hidden by their masks, and Hux is suddenly all too aware of his state of undress.  
  
The doors close with a careless wave of Ren's hand.  
  
"Eavesdropping, Grand Marshal?" he asks, eyeing Hux's bare torso with shameless interest.  
  
"Hardly," Hux replies, resisting the compulsive need to cover his nakedness. "I was merely on my way to the refresher. I need to wash off your stink."  
  
It's a cheap barb and he’s not surprised when it only evokes a thin smile from Ren.  
  
"You may use my refresher," Ren allows. "And afterwards, we will talk."  
  
He's in an exceptionally good mood. Much like Hux himself, he appears to be well-rested, the prickly air usually surrounding him has all but dissipated. Remarkable, Hux thinks, how something as simple as an orgasm can mellow a man.  
  
"Talk, Supreme Leader?" he prods.  
  
"There are matters that need to be discussed."

Apparently, intercourse works well enough to soften Ren's overall mood but unfortunately fails to make him any less melodramatic.  
  
"I see."  
  
Convinced that he won't be able to coax any further details from Ren, Hux excuses himself with a curt nod.  
  
When Hux emerges from the refresher, his hair dripping wet and clad in a robe he took without asking, Ren has already retreated to the living area. He left the door connecting the two rooms wide open.  
  
Thankfully, the Knights of Ren are gone and—as a quick glance at the now made bed reveals—so are his rumpled clothes.  
  
In their place lies a neatly folded, fresh uniform. Hux doesn't need to have a closer look to know that it is one of his own.  
  
"Get dressed," Ren calls from across the living area. "Then join me."  
  
Hux considers taking the uniform and retreating to the refresher to get dressed but ultimately decides against it.  
  
This is no time for false modesty. If Ren hopes to humiliate him thus then Hux won't give him the satisfaction.  
  
Putting on every piece of it with precise, quick motions, he dons the uniform like an armor. Briefly, he notes the name tag sewn into the collar that marks the uniform undeniably as his.  
  
Hux makes his way over to Ren while still adjusting his sleeves and gloves.  
  
“Please tell me you didn't have one of the officers fetch you my uniform," he says and sits down opposite Ren, crossing his long legs.  
  
“I had a droid deliver it,” Ren grumbles, clearly not in the mood for Hux’s dry witticism.  
  
“How surprisingly considerate.”  
  
Ren's expression darkens. "Your poor attempts at sarcasm are not appreciated, Grand Marshal."  
  
"Just as well," Hux concedes, huffing. "What is so urgent that you need to discuss it with me now?"  
  
Ren leans back, his gaze dark. "How quickly can your engineers implement the new hyperspace tracking system?"  
  
Of all the things he could have said, this is the last Hux would have expected. The surprise must show on his face, for Ren is quick to clarify.  
  
"The Force-bond has proven ineffective but I have tasked my knights with scouting the galaxy, to find what's left of the Resistance."  
  
It's not quite an admittance of failure—Ren would never grant Hux that satisfaction—but it's close enough to one that Hux feels inclined to show some rare leniency and not rub it in Ren’s face.  
  
"My knights will find them, sooner or later,” Ren continues. “And when that moment comes, I want everything to be ready. There shall be no corner in the galaxy to which they could flee, no planet where they could hide."  
  
Truly, Ren is surpassing all of the admittedly rather low expectations Hux has placed on him. He straightens in his seat, willing to show this modicum of respect for as long as Ren continues to conduct himself like a proper leader.  
  
"Two standard weeks, at most. Given that our resources are distributed accordingly."  
  
Ren eyes him with open suspicion. "I would have expected it to take much longer than that."  
  
"Our team of engineers is exceptionally trained and remarkably proficient."  
  
It's a white lie at best. His men are exceptional, there’s no doubt about that, but not even they could implement the device on such short notice if Hux had not ignored Ren's direct orders and continued to distribute part of their resources to the research team already.  
  
Ren doesn't believe him, probably knows that Hux has acted against his wishes, but since that disobedience benefits him now he lets it slide.  
  
"I expect you to oversee the final phase of developments."

"Of course, Supreme Leader."

Hux is pleased. Once more technology and innovation have triumphed over mysticism and not even Ren can deny it. On the contrary, he has now come to the realization (and Hux is sure that it has been a rather painful one) that he needs Hux and his expertise.

"And when my knights have found the Resistance, I want you as our chief strategist."

"Supreme Leader?"

"It's your training programme the ground troops undertook. You know best what they're capable of and how to employ them in the field."

"With all due respect," —little as that is— "the person best suited to lead our troops would be Phasma."

"I don't ask you to lead them into battle. Your practical combat experience is laughable at best.”

Hux throws him a heated glare but Ren continues, unfazed.

"I want you to develop a strategy of attack."

Not like on Crait, where Ren has let anger and resentment cloud his judgement, resulting in a 90% loss of their ground troops.

The words remain unsaid but the implications ring clear. For the first time since they have known one another, Ren is willing to acknowledge and utilize Hux's talents.

Pride swells unbidden in Hux's chest at Ren's approval. Just as quickly, he tries to squash it. It should not matter to him. What worth does the approval of a volatile man-child have after all?

He takes a deep breath and swallows any excitement, smothering the warm feeling threatening to spread in his chest.

"Yes, Supreme Leader," he says, his shoulders drawn back as he rises from his seat, his face a mask of careful indifference. "Is there anything else you require of me?"

Ren's gaze rakes over Hux's body, lingering on his neck where a bite mark lies hidden underneath the starched collar of Hux's uniform.

"No," he says, the single syllable drawn out to a drawl.

When Hux turns and leaves, he can feel Ren's eyes follow him until the doors shut close behind him.

 

* * *

 

"Hyperspace field stable."

"Good. Data transfer?"

"On schedule. 87% complete."

"How much longer until all relevant data has been transferred to our data banks?"

"With the hyperspace field accelerating the processing power, approximately two cycles."

"Splendid," Hux says, a thin smile gracing his pale features.

The implementation of the Shipboard Tracking Control Complex that is necessary to enable hyperspace tracking on the _Huntress_ has, so far, gone without any major difficulties. Similarly, the transfer of the astrogation data salvaged from the _Supremacy_ is proceeding according to plan.

Hux is content with their progress, proud even of his team of engineers that made this possible, despite their limited resources.

Even with the resources from Pressy's Tumble and Ren's explicit permission to use as much of them as are needed to complete the project, the processing power of the new tracker won't be quite as efficient as that of the Supremacy. Nonetheless, Hux is confident that it will be more than enough to track the Resistance through hyperspace at an acceptable speed.

"How quickly will we be able to track a ship with this tracker, compared to the _Supremacy_?" he asks the chief engineer, a sturdy women whose name eludes Hux.

She briefly consults her datapad, not looking up from her calculations when she answers.

"The new tracker will take approximately twenty-two seconds longer to analyze a target's last known trajectory and calculate the most likely destination compared to that of the _Supremacy_."

"Try to improve the processing speed by modifying the static force field."

"If we modify the force field any further we'll risk destabilization, sir. It might cause an overload."

Hux ponders this for some time before he disregards all other possibilities. None of them would be completely safe.

"See what you can do without risking destabilization. Functionality should be our prime concern."

Starkiller Base is still fresh in his mind, like an open wound refusing to heal, itching and bleeding, promising to leave a scar.

An exposed thermal oscillator was all the Rebel scum needed to reduce the greatest achievement of his life to fire and ashes, leaving little more than specks of dust drifting through the galaxy. He can still see Starkiller Base from the viewports of his quarters. The light of the explosion won’t reach this part of the Outer Rim for another four standard years and serves as a stark reminder of what once was and what has been irrevocably lost.

Hux won't allow such a miniscule oversight to destroy his ambitions once again.

The chef engineer nods. "Yes, Grand Marshal. I will keep you updated on any progress."

"Do that."

 

* * *

 

As has been the case in the last few cycles, his steps lead Hux directly to Ren's quarters instead of his own.

For reasons Hux cannot quite fathom Ren has decided that all their meetings should commence in the privacy of his rooms, undisturbed by others and often spontaneously convened.

All his orders he relays through Hux, much like Snoke had done in the days of his and Ren's co-commandership.

Hux is not overly fond of those meetings. Ren's newly-developed interest in the proceedings regarding the Order is unexpected and Hux would have preferred for Ren to remain ignorant of the complex machinations of the First Order's operations. Though there’s little he can do without raising suspicions but keep Ren updated on every and all on-goings on board of the _Huntress_.

Most of the time, he's not quite sure if Ren is even listening to his rather extensive reports, drawn out even more in hopes of overexerting Ren's already short attention span and being dismissed early. So far, to no avail. More than once he has offered to hand them in in written form and send them to his private datapad. Ren had refused.

No doubt, today will be no different.

As he arrives at Ren's quarters, the doors slide open without any prompting and Hux steps inside.

Ren is standing at the viewports, hands folded in front of him as he peers into the vastness of space.

"Sit," he instructs without acknowledging Hux's presence otherwise.

It gives Hux ample time to study him. His hair is getting longer, the thick strands pulled back into a messy braid, though a few stray curls are still framing his long face.

His reflection in the transparisteel is serene or as serene as Ren can be with the curve to his mouth that makes it appear as if he's wearing a perpetual frown no matter his mood.

"I take it the installation of the hyperdrive tracker is going well?" he asks, eyes shifting to the side to meet Hux's gaze through the transparisteel.

"The data transfer is 87% complete. Two more cycles and we'll be able to track the Resistance through hyperspace."

Hux leans back in his seat, adopting a more casual posture. As he has come to realize in the past few cycles, Ren doesn't care much for formality, for as long as Hux doesn't challenge his authority openly or in the presence of the troops.

"Given of course that your knights are able to find their hideout," Hux adds.

Ren doesn't reply. Not immediately. He closes his eyes, his shoulders losing some of their tension and he takes a deep shuddering breath. It's not cold in the room but when he exhales, Hux can see the condensation of it fog the transparent steel.

"They're searching still," Ren says, his words somewhat muffled, as if he's far away and what Hux hears is only an echo. "You have seen what I've seen. The scavenger girl and Organa. They may have expelled me from the girl's mind but for a split second I could see her surroundings, could feel the planet they're hiding on vibrating with life all around her."

"Not a dead world like Jakku then," Hux quips dryly.

"They won't make it far. Crait is ours now. And they won't dare to seek out one of the planets they've contacted. According to our data analysts none of the systems that have received the Resistance's distress signal have responded. They're not welcome there. The Hosnian system is destroyed. The New Republic is no more. Their ship is old, little more than a piece of junk."

"And yet, we have still to find them," Hux says, waving his hand. "Piece of junk or not, they've managed to elude us so far."

It was the wrong thing to say apparently. Ren stalks closer, his gait heavy with an underlying threat.

"If you have a better idea, Grand Marshal, pray tell."

He doesn't sit down but stands close to where Hux is sitting instead, looming over him like a shadow suspended in air.

Hux isn't overly concerned. Ren's intimidation tactics have lost their powers when he let Hux suck his cock and came down his throat with a whimper and an echo of Hux’s name on his lips.

"Your knights are not the only assets at your disposal, Ren. General Frumentar controls a small army of spies and agents ready to do your bidding. Use them."

Ren's offensively handsome features twist into a frown.

"Frumentar is a cowardly rat."

"A cowardly rat with the biggest network of contacts in the known galaxy. If anybody has so much as seen a sliver of the Resistance then his agents will know."

Hux cannot fault Ren for his reluctance to employ Frumentar’s services. The man is the human equivalent to a festering sore, an utter nuisance, only relying on his illustrious family name and personal wealth. Secrecy and deceit are his weapons and his favor is only ever offered for a favor in return. A nuisance, yes, but a useful one.

"I can have a meeting with him arranged for the next cycle," Hux offers.

"Do it then," Ren allows after some consideration, though the distaste for a potential meeting with the man is plain to see.

There's no need to tell Hux a second time. With deft fingers, he makes a grab for his datapad and begins to type out a formal request for a private holocall. As much as Hux dislikes Frumentar, he'd be more confident in the success of this mission if it didn’t hinge on Ren's magical cohorts and one nebulous vision.

Sending the request off with the press of a button, Hux looks up to find himself face to face with Ren, bent over him and far too close for comfort.

Ren has not touched him since that last, debauched encounter but Hux can see the urge to do so burning in his eyes. He wonders what it is that makes Ren refrain from giving into the desire that’s so cleary written on his face. Surely, he must know by now that Hux is not entirely averse to it.

On the contrary, so far it has proven exceedingly useful to appeal to Ren's baser needs. Ever since Hux knelt between his legs and used his mouth on him, he has found Ren to be much more amenable to Hux's general suggestions. Even his infamous temper tantrums have somewhat abated.

"Is there something you require, Supreme Leader?" he asks, eyes half-lidded as he returns Ren's gaze with fluttering lashes and a teasing lilt to his voice.

"Yes," Ren says, leaning in so close Hux can feel his breath ghosting over his skin. "Tell me about your father."

Hux recoils, all flirtatious notions wiped away by Ren’s brusque demand.

"What?!" he hisses, eyes narrowing in silent warning.

His anger doesn't impress Ren.

"I haven't forgotten what I saw when our memories mingled. And I have promised to make you talk. So talk."

Biting back the insult on the tip of his tongue, Hux forces himself to breathe.

"My father was General Brendol Hux. Born 31 BBY on Arkanis. Married to Maratelle Hux. He was largely responsible for the development and implementation of the First Order stormtrooper programme that-- "

"That's enough," Ren interrupts him and Hux mouth snaps shut with a resounding click. "I don't appreciate it when you act obtuse, Grand Marshal."

Hux glares at him, mouth pressed into a thin line. Let Ren tear the memories from his head if he wants to know about his father so badly.

"As you wish," Ren concedes after some time and turns around, taking a seat across Hux.

Nothing happens for quite some time and the stinging pain accompanying any attempt to break into another’s mind fails to materialize. The only presence inside Hux’s head remains his own.

Then Ren starts speaking.

"You're twelve years old. Twelve years older than your father ever thought or hoped you'd be. The black corridors of the Star Destroyer have been your home for the last six. You share your room with four other cadets. All of whom you hate. And they hate you, Hux. Oh, how they hate you. The son of General Hux who has it so easy. All that you are for them, all that you'll ever be, is a spoiled brat."

Enough, Hux wants to say, to scream, but his tongue has turned to lead inside his mouth and his lips are pressed together so tightly, they might as well have been sewn shut.

Ren goes on, merciless in his morbid curiosity.

"They know nothing of what it means to be the son of Brendol Hux. The skin underneath your uniform is littered with bruises, some of them the shape of big, rough hands, others like blooming flowers, red and blue, the older ones the color of Corellian whiskey. You know because it’s what your father drinks when he watches your crumbled form writhe on the floor. A cycle ago he beat you so viciously, you had to recover in a bacta tank overnight. Tended to by droids because none of the human personnel is supposed to know. Your father can’t risk anybody telling Rae Sloane. Rae Sloane who is off ship and not here to protect you."

"Enough," Hux hisses, the word spit out between clenched teeth.

Ren pauses, his gaze unreadable as he regards Hux.

"You killed your father for what he did to you," he whispers.

No, Hux thinks, vision blurry with what he refuses to believe are unshed tears, I killed him because he had become a liability to the First Order.

It's both a truth and a lie.

Brendol was nothing more than a broken shell of a man by the time Hux had advanced to the rank of a General. The stormtrooper program had already been perfected by him at the time, running smoothly with Phasma and Cardinal shaping the easily impressionable children into proper soldiers. There was no reason to keep his father around any longer.

Those are all perfectly acceptable reasons and therefore all true and part of Hux’s decision to have his father eliminated. It was the most logical course of action but that’s not what he feels when he thinks of Brendol in that bacta tank, slowly disintegrating.

And Ren knows. There's neither pity reflected in his face, nor the tell-tale twitch of disgust, but he knows. His expression is soft, vulnerable even and as much as Hux has always hated the cold steel of his mask, in this moment, he hates its absence even more.

Does Ren really think they share a similar upbringing, a similar pain? Spoiled scion of the Republic, descendant of both Alderaan's and Naboo's royal houses that he is?

"How did it feel?"

Less than the question, it's the way it's delivered that startles Hux: softly, with a curious lilt to Ren’s voice that makes him sound like an insecure child, like the boy in Hux's vision on Korriban.

He stares ahead, meeting Ren's curious gaze with steely resolve.

"Righteous."

Ren startles, his mouth trembling as he looks at Hux, awed. He's the first to avert his eyes, throat working as he swallows thickly.

"You hated him," he says, brows pulled tightly together.

Hux clicks his tongue and crosses his arms over his chest. "Obviously."

It was certainly no secret among those that had personal dealings with him that the older Hux hated his illegitimate son—he made sure everybody knew, if not with words then by deeds—and that the feeling was mutual. Ren would have known if he had ever cared for anybody but himself.

"I envy you that hate."

It dawns on Hux then, that this is not about him or his father. It's about Ren (and isn't it always?) and how he had killed Han Solo. It’s nothing more than a clumsy attempt at sharing his feelings on the matter, hoping for...

Hoping for what?

That Hux could offer him advice? That they could bond over mutual patricide? Did he expect to be comforted perhaps?

"Ren," he says, surprising himself with the softness of his voice. A softness that he hasn’t intended. "I cannot offer you comfort. You've come to the wrong man for that."

The look in Ren’s eyes is startling, filled with a longing so pronounced it threatens to pull Hux in and drown him in its depths.

"What can you offer me instead?" he asks, full of a hope Hux can’t comprehend.

There’s only one thing he’s willing to give Ren.

"Retribution. To let those who have wronged you know what they did. And make them pay for it. Make them suffer. That is my offer to you."

Ren sits stock-still, his face an expressionless mask. Even his eyes seem to have lost their inner fire, the irises nothing more than two pits of darkness.

"Retribution," he repeats, slowly, as if he's savoring the taste of the word on his tongue.

He licks his lips, the motion igniting an involuntary flicker of lust in Hux's lower belly, quickly followed by irritation at his own body for being so affected by Ren of all people.

"I accept," Ren says, finally, eyes shining wet as he regards Hux.

Hux can see his own reflection staring back at him and allows himself a tentative smile.

"That's what I thought."

 

* * *

 

He doesn't see Ren again for the remaining cycle but that doesn't hinder the man from making his presence known otherwise.

At the end of his shift—his feet pleasantly sore from a day on the bridge—Hux returns to his quarters to find a small box waiting for him on his working desk.

"It was personally delivered by Master Ren," Kayfour informs him, trotting over with Hux's preferred cup of Tarine tea.

"A personal delivery?" Hux muses, speaking more to himself than to his droid.

He accepts the offered cup with a quick thank you, taking careful little sips of the hot tea as he contemplates the inconspicuous-looking box waiting for him.

"Did he mention what’s inside or why he brought it here?" Hux asks Kayfour.

The droid's circular eyes flicker slightly and then it shakes its shiny head.

"I fear not, Master Hux, but it came with a note. It should be on your working desk."

And indeed, when he sits down there’s the promised note waiting for him. It's written on proper paper and Hux wonders why Ren would go through the hassle of acquiring actual paper when a simple holo-message would have sufficed.

Curious despite himself, Hux takes off his gloves and picks up the note, marveling at the texture of the paper underneath his fingertips.

It's somewhat rough but overall pleasant, reminding him of the feeling of sand running through his fingers. As a boy he would often escape the harsh lectures of his father by fleeing to one of the many beaches on Arkanis and play with the sand until the sun went down and his nanny droid came looking for him.

When he turns the card around, he's greeted with a short note.

 _An offer_ is written there in black ink.

Hux flips the note over twice but there's nothing more to it.

Curiosity piqued, he puts the piece of paper aside and turns his attention to the mysterious box.

It unlocks with a soft click when he puts his hands on the double latches, as if reacting to his touch alone, though Hux can discern no fingerprint or DNA scanners.

The sight that greets him as the lid swings open puts an involuntary smile on his face. Nestled in red velvet lies a pair of daggers that are all too familiar to him. Dried blood is still clinging to one of the pitchblack blades and Hux can't resist to run a finger along the sharp edge.

It's Ren's blood, Hux realizes, as a spark of excitement warms his chest. The same blood Hux had drawn from him during their sparring session all those cycles ago.

Extraordinary weapons indeed.

He takes one of the daggers—the one drenched in Ren's blood—and lifts it over his head, admiring how the black surface swallows most of the light without reflecting any of it back.

An offer, Ren has called these, not a gift, and Hux is careful not to think of them as such. A gift is given freely but an offer implies expectations of reciprocity.

His initial delight at finding the daggers diminishes somewhat and makes way for an ingrained suspicion, cultivated by Brendol himself, who had never given Hux anything without expecting to be compensated tenfold in return.

There must be a reason for Ren’s uncharacteristic generosity. Surely, he can't think to buy Hux's loyalty with beautiful kitsch. Not even Ren is that much of a fool. But what other reasons would he have for giving Hux these weapons? Especially considering that not a cycle ago he had deemed Hux's physical prowess laughable.

It's possible Ren has intended to mock Hux with such a gift—he wouldn't put him past such pettiness—but something tells Hux that there’s more to it than that.

Over the last few cycles, Ren has demonstrated at least basic leadership skills, much to Hux's surprise, and his dealings with the disdainful High Command have been particularly gratifying. In his own way, Ren has even managed to assure the loyalty of the troops.

Most remarkable, however, has been his willingness to adhere to Hux's advice, at least occasionally.

Naturally, much of the reason why the First Order had not destabilized in the wake of Supreme Leader Snoke's death has been Hux's own achievement but—and he can admit that much in the privacy of his own quarters—not all of it.

Taking all this into consideration, Hux can't help but wonder if the offer Ren is making is an honest one. Though what exactly he’s offering remains shrouded in mystery.

"Sir?" Kayfour's mechanical voice tears him from his musings and Hux turns to regard his protocol droid, irritation visible in the curve of his brow.

"Yes, Kayfour?" he asks, putting the dagger away, careful not to cut himself on the sharp edge.

"An incoming message from Master Ren, Sir."

Hux blinks and reaches for his datapad. Like all messages from Ren, few and far in between as they are, this one is also short and to the point, nearly insulting in its brusqueness.

 _Report to hangar bay 19 at once_.

The hangar bay?

For a moment, Hux allows himself to hope for a mission that requires Ren to leave the _Huntress_ , preferably for a considerable amount of time.

It has been too long since Hux had full control over the ship. Longer even since he had the freedom to prepare for his inevitable overtake of the Order. Always Ren or his knights have lurked in the periphery of his perception. Always has there been the threat of his deepest thoughts and desires being plucked from his mind like overripe fruit.

More shameful still is it that Hux, since the unfortunate affair with Ren had begun—and he shudders to think of it as an affair—has barely expended any thought on a possible coup, content with exerting his influence over Ren in other ways, like by sucking his cock.

 _Like a two credit whore_ , a voice sounding suspiciously like his father’s provides, little helpful.

Hux straightens out his greatcoat and deletes Ren's message with a careless click.

Whole star systems have been ruled over by whores. Hux would be in good company. Besides, he's too much of an opportunist to feel ashamed of his methods, especially when they're working. And so far, getting on his knees for Ren has worked exceedingly well.

"Sir?" Kayfour says, the echoing feedback in its voice conveying urgency. "Master Ren has sent another message."

Adjusting the band insignia on his greatcoat Hux throws a last look at the droid, disregarding it with a wave of his hand.

"Delete it," he says and turns to leave.

 

* * *

 

When he arrives at hangar bay 19 Ren is already there, flanked by a squadron of stormtroopers, their body armor polished to a shine.

To Ren's left stands Phasma, towering over a meek-looking Mitaka who tries his hardest not to wince at every minuscule move of hers. Behind him in neat rows stand other high-ranking officers, all in full dress uniform.

Ren himself cuts a most impressive figure, clad in dark robes reminiscent of his usual attire but richer in design, enwrought with silver thread shimmering in the artificial light, the whole ensemble completed by a cape made from fabric like woven metal, slung over Ren’s shoulder and held together by a silver clasp.

Hux has a decidedly bad feeling about all this.

It’s not so much Ren's unusual attire or even the presence of the stormtroopers and officers who are clearly intended to act as a welcoming committee that has his stomach curl with dread, as it is the fact that Ren has somehow managed to keep him entirely in the dark as to who they’re supposed to welcome aboard the _Huntress_.

As he steps up to Ren, claiming his rightful place at his side, as is befitting for a man of his stature, Hux pushes all his confusion and suspicions to the back of his mind.

No trace of it shows on his face when he eyes Ren, appraising him with a raised brow.

"Properly dressed for once?" he whispers, careful that his voice only carries far enough for Ren to hear.

His insolence is rewarded with a subtle upcurve of Ren's mouth, the ghost of a smile.

"Why, Grand Marshal, do you approve?"

Hux's usually impeccable control slips, his expression falling as he struggles to regain his composure. Terrified, Hux realizes that he does indeed approve.

Still struggling with his own traitorous thoughts, he doesn't grace Ren with a reply but judging by the smug smile pulling at his mouth, Hux doesn't need to. He can only hope that the sudden heat rising in his cheeks is not as obvious as it feels.

"Explain to me what exactly is going on here and why I wasn't informed further in advance?" he asks instead, willing the unpleasant flush on his cheeks away.

"Patience, Grand Marshal. You'll see soon enough. I imagine you'll be quite pleased."

Doubtful, Hux thinks but doesn't say. He's no friend of surprises, least of all when they're orchestrated by Ren.

As Hux lets his gaze wander, it lands on Mitaka. He’s sweating so copiously, the fabric of his uniform collar has darkened in spots. When their eyes met, he's looking downright apologetic. It's all the confirmation Hux needs to be certain that he's the only one to have been left in the dark. Furthermore, it seems that everyone has been under strict orders not to divulge any information to Hux himself.

The hairs on the nape of his neck rise in nervous anticipation, his fingers feeling for the handle of his customized blaster. A million thoughts are racing through his head, toppling over each other, throwing his mind into turmoil.

A public execution, Hux thinks, throat tight around the lump forming in his throat. Ren has finally deemed him expendable, the threat he's posing outweighing his usefulness.

He--

Startled, he turns to Ren as a soft chuckle tears him from his frantic thoughts.

"You won't die today, Hux. At least not by my hands. But I make no promises for her," he says.

Before Hux can inquire what in kriffing hells he means by that, the hangar doors open with a pneumatic hiss and a small, unremarkable shuttle lands and docks in the designated area of the bay.

Emerging from the shuttle, flanked by a personal guard, is Rae Sloane.


	11. Stolen Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rae Sloane has become old.
> 
> Her once pitch black hair has gone grey, the white strand parting her hair, once one of her most distinguable features, hardly visible anymore.
> 
> The circles underneath her eyes are bloodshot, the wrinkles around her mouth deeper than Hux remembers, but her eyes still shine with the same sharp intelligence he had come to associate with her all those years ago, when he had been nothing but a boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention how much I love Rae Sloane?
> 
> Thank you, [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) for whipping this whole thing into shape.
> 
> And thank you, [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for holding my hand throughout all of this and saving me from more mental breakdowns than I could count.  
> All of you who took the time to read and comment: I love you.  
> 

X

 

Rae Sloane has become old.

Her once pitch black hair has gone grey, the white strand parting her hair, once one of her most distinguable features, hardly visible anymore.

The circles underneath her eyes are bloodshot, the wrinkles around her mouth deeper than Hux remembers, but her eyes still shine with the same sharp intelligence he had come to associate with her all those years ago, when he had been nothing but a boy.

For once, it's not him on the receiving end of her piercing gaze.

Sitting with her legs crossed, an arm draped over the armrest of one of the sofas in the officer's lounge, Sloane looks Ren up and down, not a muscle in her face moving.

"Word has it that you're the leader of the First Order now," she says, cutting straight to the core of the matter without artificial decorum.

"Is that why you've come out of hiding? To see if there’s any truth to the whispered tales?" Ren asks.

He's being playful, Hux realizes with growing astonishment. Watching the two interact, he'd even go so far as to say that Ren finds her characteristic bluntness charming.

"I came because the time was right," she says and turns to Hux, dismissing Ren with such utter carelessness, he has a hard time keeping the amused smile off his face.

"Word also has it that you hold the rank of a Grand Marshal now. Congratulations."

For the untrained ear and eye Sloane might appear dismissive of Hux's achievements but he has known her long enough to recognize a compliment when he hears one, picking up on the subtle notes of pride in her raspy voice.

He inclines his head in gratitude and toasts her with the tumbler of whiskey he has nursed for the better part of the evening.

"So you came to pledge your loyalty?" Ren interrupts rudely, unable to bear it for long not to be the center of attention.

Sloane regards him curiously, taking in his youthful features, the perpetual pout, and Hux wonders if she has already deemed him lacking.

"My loyalty lies with the Empire, always."

Ren bristles at that. "The Empire is gone."

"And does the First Order not strive to build a new one?" she shoots back, not intimidated by Ren's posturing.

The question has Ren pause and he knits his brows as he contemplates this.

Typical Ren, to have no answer for such an easy question, too occupied with his own personal vendetta to give the future of the organisation he's now leading much thought.

What good fortune is it then that he has Hux by his side.

"You'll find that we're well on our way to building that empire," he explains. "The Resistance has been all but annihilated and the few allies they had are now known to us. Soon they will pay for collaborating with such scum. It's only a matter of time until--"

"Do you actually believe that, Armitage?"

Hux's mood instantly sours at the mention of his given name.

"I've heard of Crait," Sloane continues, merciless, fixing them both with a look that one would usually reserve for particularly naughty children in dire need of punishment.

"In fact, the whole galaxy has heard of it and it isn't impressed. All of the Order's resources at your disposal and you still couldn't secure a complete victory. Outwitted by a handful of rebels led by an old, tired woman."

Nex to him, Hux can feel Ren stiffen at the mention of his mother and a quick glance reveals that he's barely holding onto his already limited control.

Hux is impressed he has even made it this far without succumbing to one of his infamous tantrums.

"Nonetheless, it ended with the Resistance's ranks significantly diminished and their network of allies exposed. They're hardly posing a threat anymore," Hux interjects, surprising Ren and himself with his willingness to come to his defense.

Sloane regards him carefully, the frown wrinkling her already creased features further. As a child, such open disapproval would have terrified Hux, sent him into a spiral of anxiety, but today it does nothing but remind him of how far he has come since those days and how little of that cowering boy is left in him.

"The question that remains, Grand Admiral," Hux says, not so subtly reminding her of their now equal standing. "Are you with our Supreme Leader?"

He doesn't need to turn to know that Ren is staring at him. The prickling feeling on his skin, like a stinging caress that's neither particularly painful nor pleasant, is indication enough. He doesn’t take his eyes off Rae Sloane.

Tension lies heavily in the air, thick enough for Ren to cut through it with his saber, or so it feels.

Sloane remains stoic, eyes unblinking, until all of the sudden she slumps back into the soft cushions of her seat and empties her tumbler in one, long gulp.

"I am," she says and then no more.

It's enough.

 

* * *

 

"Where did you find her?" Hux asks without preamble when Ren strides into his room well past Gamma shift, uninvited and unannounced as usual.

While Hux has already disposed of his coat, Ren is still dressed in that dreadfully becoming outfit, his cape fluttering behind him as he stalks closer.

"I didn't find her," he admits, fumbling with the clasp holding his heavy cape together.

He takes it off with a shrug and throws it over one of Hux's chairs.

"She contacted me. Apparently, she has built herself some kind of miniature empire on an unlisted planet in the Unknown Regions."

The revelation doesn't surprise Hux. Rae Sloane is without a doubt the most resourceful person he has ever known. Taking control over an entire planet and ruling it with an iron fist would be one of her less impressive feats.

"And you invited her aboard the  _ Huntress  _ because you deemed her a possibly useful ally?"

Ren nods, loosening the high collar of his robe and exposing his pale neck in the process.

Hux's eyes are involuntarily drawn to that sliver of skin, though he's quick to avert his gaze when Ren swallows and the movement of his Adam's apple breaks Hux’s untoward fascination.

"It was one of the reasons," Ren admits.

"And what are the others?" Hux prods further.

Ren looks up, hesitating for the briefest of moments.

"She knew my grandfather."

Of course, Hux thinks and suddenly Ren's unusual concern with his dress and the amount of respect he showed Rae Sloane make sense.

It's common knowledge that Sloane and Vader served together on the  _ Defiance  _ and from what Hux could piece together from old Imperial holos and Sloane's own occasional tales, it was a mutually respectful relationship.

"Is that why you dressed up all prettily?" Hux asks. "Because you can't impress your dear grandfather anymore, so you settle for the next best thing?"

Ren's nostrils flare at Hux's open mockery but he doesn't retaliate with his usual violent temper.

"Vader respected her and so will I," he says instead.

Hux's lips involuntarily purse at those words and Ren's expression softens into an indulgent smile.

"Does it bother you? That I've never extended that same courtesy to you?" he asks.

It does but there's no need for Ren to know that.

"Absolutely preposterous," he huffs, stepping away from the unusually clingy Ren.

"Liar," Ren whispers, the faintest smile still adorning his face

It only serves to infuriate Hux further. "Have you come here solely to antagonize me or was there a point to this visit?"

"You defended my decisions on Crait in front of her."

Hux is quick to deny it. "I did no such thing."

"You consider Crait a failure, you told me so more than once. Yet you convinced Rae Sloane that what happened there is of no importance. A minor setback at worst."

"Have you ever considered that it was not about you so much as it was about saving face in front of the woman whose protégé I've been? As your second-in-command all decisions you make, be them good or bad, automatically reflect back on the Order as a whole. And thus on me."

"I have considered it," Ren allows, closing the distance between them once more. "And disregarded the possibility."

Hux glares at him. "On what grounds?"

"You have never thought of yourself as my second-in-command. I'm an inconvenience to you, an obstacle to overcome on your way to greatness. My failure is your victory. You never passed upon a chance to point out my, in your opinion, numerous shortcomings to Snoke."

Ren's voice is soft, void of the anger Hux would have expected to accompany such words, and his breath is pleasantly warm as it ghosts over Hux's face.

"Then why not dispose of me?" Hux asks.

Denying his aspirations seems pointless. For a long time, it has been an unspoken understanding between them that Hux would not hesitate to ensure his ascension to the throne of the First Order through Ren’s dead body. Trust Ren to give voice to things that should have been left unsaid.

"Because you were useful," Ren answers. "You still are."

Their proximity is stifling; their bodies so close, their chests are touching with every intake of breath.

Hux doesn't budge. "But is it worth the risk?"

Up this close, it's impossible to miss the spark of genuine amusement in Ren's eyes and Hux is gripped by the sudden urge to wipe the infuriating expression off Ren's face with his tongue and teeth.

"Snoke used to think so. A rabid cur, that was his name for you. But useful when manipulated properly."

Hux hisses, the dormant disdain for Snoke that had died down to a modest flame in the wake of the man’s demise flaring up anew, but Ren doesn't let Hux’s obvious drop in mood deter him.

"At first I didn't understand, blinded by the contempt I felt for you, but now I think I do. And I think Snoke underestimated you."

Hux pauses, his rising irritation momentarily curbed by a wave of confusion.

"Underestimated me?" he echoes, sceptical.

Of course Snoke did, there's no doubt in Hux's mind about that, but hearing his own thoughts reflected in Ren's words strikes Hux as too close to a compliment as to be taken at face value.

Ren doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he reaches out with one gloved hand, his fingers brushing over the Order insignia stitched onto Hux's uniform.

Intrigued by whatever new madness Ren will unleash on him now, Hux allows it.

"Your hunger rivals my own, I realize that now," Ren says.

Hux bristles, indignant at the insinuation that he and Ren could have anything in common at all.

"And what brought on that sudden realization?" he asks, determined to challenge Ren even when he can feel heat curling tight in his belly.

Ren is still touching him. "Who said it was sudden?" he asks and closes the distance between them.

The kiss is brutal, overwhelming and demanding, but not as clumsy as Ren’s first few attempts.

Briefly, Hux entertains the idea of biting Ren's tongue off when he forces it inside Hux's mouth, but is soon too distracted by the pinpricks of pleasure shooting up his spine whenever Ren sucks his lower lip in between his teeth to give it honest consideration.

"I have done as you've advised," Ren mumbles into the messy kiss. "Frumentar will send out his agents to find the Resistance's hideout. It's only a matter of time until they'll lie dead at our feet."

The words have Hux hard in his jodhpurs. He moans shamelessly, shuddering as Ren pulls him into his arms and rips the collar of his uniform open.

Hux is quick to stop Ren's wandering hand from ruining his uniform any further by grabbing him tightly around the wrist. Ren allows it, though Hux has the fleeting suspicion that he's merely indulging him because he finds Hux's fussing amusing.

"Is that why you brought Rae Sloane aboard? Because you thought to buy my loyalty like that?" Hux asks, gasping when Ren's mouth finds the sensitive spot behind his ear.

A chuckle is his only answer, Ren's breath hot against his skin.

"Your loyalty can't be bought. There's only ever been one person you’ve been loyal to."

Ren's tongue licking a wet stripe up the curve of his ear is a powerful distraction. So powerful in fact that his words barely register in Hux's mind, drowned out by the frantic beating of his own heart and the blood rushing in his ears.

His hold on Ren’s wrist eases up and Ren is quick to take advantage of it.

With a growl, he tears at the uniform top until the fabric gives with a shrill ripping sound.

"You brute," Hux admonishes him sharply and looks down between their bodies.

His uniform is torn, just as his undershirt. But when he looks up to give Ren a piece of his mind he's hauled off his feet.

The ease with which Ren carries him is in equal parts terrifying and intriguing and the way his stiff cock rubs against Ren's stomach is testament to that.

With a huff, he lands on his own bed, the previously pristine sheets quickly rumpled when Ren joins him with little grace.

As Hux tries to sit up he's stopped by one massive hand pressing him down again. Ren's palm is so big it spans nearly the entirety of his chest.

Ren's expression is a curious one, open-mouthed, almost reverent as he marvels at the stark contrast of his gloved hand against Hux's pale skin. His eagerness is palpable. Hux can smell it in the air like a heavy musk, similar to the stench of his arousal that is almost biting in its intensity.

Another kiss has Hux writhing in the sheets, his hips moving on their own accord when they roll up to meet an experimental thrust by Ren.

"You're loyal only to yourself," he whispers against Hux open mouth, elaborating on a question Hux has already all but forgotten about. "And yet you could not leave her criticism uncommented."

It dawns on Hux then, that Ren's arousal is due to Hux defending him in front of his former mentor. How desperate for approval he is and how useful that could prove to be for Hux.

"You think of deceit, of manipulation," Ren growls, his brows creased when Hux looks at him.

If Hux didn’t know any better, he’d say Ren is pouting, mortally insulted that Hux is scheming still, despite Ren’s teeth pulling at his lips.

"Then you should increase your efforts," he taunts, delighted when Ren's eyes darken in acceptance of the open challenge.

It's obvious that Ren’s experience is limited at best; his touch is too rough, at times bordering on being painful, especially when he rolls Hux's nipples in between the coarse leather of his gloves. But Hux arches into it nonetheless, his legs parting to make space for Ren's body.

The implications are clear and for once Ren is quick to catch on, lowering himself in between the welcoming space of Hux’s legs and starting to grind their crotches together.

Hux's keens, his thighs already shaking with the strain of keeping them so widely spread that Ren has room enough to fit comfortably in between them. It has been too long; he used to be more flexible.

Ren has no such concerns and for a split second Hux resents him for the five years between them. He’s younger, his body much more defined and when he pulls back and shifts on the sheets, so that he can press his face against the flat plane of Hux's chest, he does so with such thoughtless grace Hux wants to choke him for it.

Distracted by his own resentful thoughts, he groans in surprise when sharp teeth close around his left nipple, biting and pulling until the sensitive nub is bright red.

"You have freckles," Ren observes in between two bites, the tip of his tongue flicking over Hux's abused nipple.

Hux rolls his eyes at him. "And you have no finesse."

Crossing his legs behind Ren's back, the heels of his boots resting right above his lower back, Hux forces him to still.

"Use your teeth sparingly. I'm not a bantha steak," he instructs, softening his harsh criticism with a gentle brush of his fingers along Ren's scar. "Use your tongue instead."

Ren doesn't argue, which is a victory all in itself, and quickly goes to work to do as Hux has told him to.

"Better," Hux croons when Ren sucks on the other nipple, while his hands squeeze at Hux's flat chest. There's not much to hold onto but Ren doesn't seem to be bothered by it.

Once upon a time, Ren must have been an exemplary student, eager to prove himself and quick to learn, if the way in which he lavishes Hux with attention is any indication.

Pleasure is rapidly flooding his body, originating in his chest and spreading down to the tips of his fingers. 

"You're using your powers again," Hux accuses, breathless, crying out when a wave of bright-hot lust surges through him.

Ren doesn't answer. Instead, he makes Hux gasp with another bite.

When Ren finally lets up of him, Hux is a flushed mess, his usually neat hairstyle ruined with how hard he has thrown his head from one side of the bed to the other.

A shrill alarm cuts through the noises of their debauchery and Hux emerges from his pleasurable haze like a drowning man breaking through the surface of a raging sea.

"Ignore it," Ren growls as Hux tries to disentangle himself. 

He’s tempted to, especially when Ren presses another bruising kiss to his lips, but the beeping alert of his communicator never ceases and, fed up with it, Hux slaps at Ren's arm until the other rolls off him with a displeased grunt.

Hux pays him no mind as he fumbles for his communicator, lost somewhere deep inside the pockets of his uniform.

"What is it?" he barks, forgoing a customary greeting as he takes the call.

His erection is still straining against the fabric of his jodhpurs, almost painful, definitely distracting, and in dire need of attention that Ren is more than willing to give if his hungry gaze is any indication.

"Apologies, Grand Marshal," Mitaka's voice echoes through the room, effectively dampening Hux's arousal. "Grand Admiral Sloane has requested a meeting with you in your quarters."

Ren's eyes narrow at the mention of Rae Sloane and Hux levels a warning glare at him in return, wordlessly telling him not to act rashly.

"I'm sure she can put in that request herself as she's perfectly aware of how we handle these things on a ship such as this."

For a moment there's only static silence on the other end. When Hux fears that the connection has somehow prematurely terminated, Mitaka's voice comes through again.

"That's the problem, sir. She has insisted on holding the meeting now. She's on her way to your quarters as we speak. I couldn't stop her, sir. I'm--"

Hux ends the call before Mitaka can start his usual litany of apologies.

"Out," he barks at Ren, already getting up from the bed.

Ren doesn't move an inch.

"Out? You presume to command me?" he asks, looking downright offended.

Hux whirls around, buttoning up his uniform with deft hands.

"I think it wouldn't bode well for us if we were to be caught fraternizing,” he snaps.

There's no arguing that point but it doesn't stop Ren from trying.

"I can force her to leave and erase her memories," he offers.

"You will do no such thing! I doubt you could. Don't forget that she has served under Vader himself; Force-users don't intimidate her."

The mention of his grandfather makes Ren pause and, in the end, relent.

He gets up, his displeasure transparent on his face, though Hux doesn't fail to notice hat he's still hard, not at all deterred by the sudden and unexpected interruption. Unlike Hux's own erection, which has virtually disappeared the moment Mitaka's voice had crackled through the communicator.

What an animal, Hux thinks and tears his gaze away from the impressive bulge to search for a missing glove.

Ren wouldn't let him. Grabbing Hux by the wrist he pulls him close against his chest.

"We will finish this," he says gravely, as if he's asking for a duel to the death and not an orgasm.

"Perhaps," Hux allows, "if you release me at once and let me get presentable."

Ren forfeits his hold on him immediately.

"As you wish," he concedes and Hux can't help but shudder at these words.

He doesn't overstay his welcome much longer after that, content with Hux's promise and the prospect of Hux’s pale thighs around his waist once more. He takes his cape and his heat with him as he leaves. His scent, however, lingers, and tickles Hux's nose in a way that irritates as much as it pleases him.

After fishing his missing glove out from underneath his bed and putting on a new uniform, Hux takes one last breath before he activates the air recycling programme. Afterwards, no trace of Ren is left. 

Just as he straightens his collar, Rae Sloane steps inside his quarters.

 

* * *

 

"You've overridden the codes on the door’s access panel."

They're sitting in the living area, with Hux properly dressed once more, and watching the stars through the viewports that are set to 100% transparency.

She doesn't deny it but neither is she overly concerned with evoking Hux’s anger. Crossing one of her long legs over the other, she leans back into the cushions of the ice-blue sofa and sips on some water.

"That's a serious breach of privacy," Hux points out.

Sloane gives him a long look over the rim of her glass.

"There's no privacy on a Star Destroyer, as you well know."

"Little of it. And even that is a hard-won privilege," he agrees with a nod.

"I can see that you've done well for yourself, Armitage, but don't let it get to your head."

"I didn't get where I‘m now by overestimating myself."

"Certainly not but arrogance runs in your family," she shoots back.

Hux purses his lips though he doesn't dare argue.

"Speaking of which," Sloane says, tapping a finger against her glass. “How is Brendol?”

"Liquified."

She raises a brow in question.

"An unfortunate accident involving a Parnassos beetle,” Hux elaborates. “Took the bastard three cycles to die. I imagine it was quite painful."

A smile pulls at Sloane's mouth, deepening the lines already edged into her regal face. 

"Unfortunate indeed."

Hux allows himself to enjoy her open approval for a few heartbeats longer before he returns to the matter at hand.

"But you didn't come here to discuss Brendol," he says.

"No,” she agrees, “I came here because that boy took the throne and proclaimed himself Supreme Leader."

Her estimation of Ren is not unfitting, yet it irritates Hux for reasons he doesn't care to examine.

"Word travels far and fast if you heard of our change in leadership on that nondescript planet of yours," he says.

"Julia Agrippina sought me out and expressed her concern in unmistakable words."

Hux's expression darkens. Agrippina knowing about Rae's whereabouts when even he did not is worrisome.

"Because she thought you would come here and scold me like an unruly child? Give me a slap on the wrist in warning?"

Sloane doesn't deign his words with a response and it's all the confirmation Hux needs.

"She expressed concern, yes," Sloane admits after another sip of water. "And can you blame her? The circumstances of Kylo Ren's ascension and Supreme Leader Snoke's death are dubious at best."

"A Force-user of the Resistance killed Snoke," Hux is quick to point out. Maybe too quick.

Disapproval shines in Sloane's eyes as she stares at him.

"Do you actually believe that, Armitage?"

In the privacy of his own quarters, the mention of his given name feels less like an admonishment and more like a sign of affection.

"It's what the galaxy needs to believe. Their leader slain by the Resistance, his loyal apprentice taking his place and swearing bloody retribution. What's more effective than pathos to win a war?"

Sloane doesn't seem convinced. "You think you can tame this beast of a man and use him to further your own agenda?"

Hux shrugs his shoulders. "I've found him to be quite susceptible to certain stimuli."

"Oh, I can see that," Sloane muses, pointedly looking at Hux's kiss-swollen lips.

Hux meets her gaze without flinching.

"I have other precautionary mechanisms in place of course," he argues, refusing to feel ashamed for what he does in his own bed.

"Like the stormtrooper guard you've equipped with cortosis weapons, made of ore from Pressy's Tumble?" she prods further.

She’s like a Bha’lir, burying their fangs into their prey’s neck and not letting go until they have breathed their last breath. Hux used to admire that morosity. Now, aimed at him, he finds it rather irritating.

"You're well-informed for a woman who has preferred to stay hidden on a remote planet for the last few years."

Too well-informed in fact. It’s not as if he had made a secret out of the cortosis weapons he equipped a dozen of his highest-skilled stormtroopers with, but he hasn’t officially announced it either. 

"Julia Agrippina has been very eager to share all her grief over your latest operations. Including your acquisitions on Pressy’s Tumble," she explains, as if she sensed his confusion. "You're quite the thorn in her side."

Her words are so uncharacteristically soft, so full of a genuine fondness that she’d never show outside these four walls, Hux can't help but smile.

"I've always been resilient, haven't I?" he asks, leaning over to refill Sloane's glass before Kayfour has a chance to do it.

"That you've been and for your sake, I hope you'll prove to be this time as well. You're playing a dangerous game here, Armitage."

"The gains justify the risks I'm taking. All of them calculated if you must know."

"You're no Tarkin," Sloane reminds him and some of her usual steely sobriety has returned to the cadence of her voice.

And for all the respect and affection, even love, he has for her, Hux has always hated how effortlessly she could get underneath his skin.

"And Kylo Ren is no Vader, no matter the blood running through his veins. I knew Vader. He was a man of great power and exceptional control, willing to subordinate himself for the greater good of the Empire. Not like Kylo Ren."

She throws him a warning look that Hux disregards with a shrug.

"The only thing Vader and Ren have in common is a sadness that surrounds them like a shroud. A sadness that can quickly shift to fury. Don't underestimate him, Armitage."

A lecture. He shouldn't have expected anything else. As a child, such a reprimand would often result in hot tears, caused by the constant fear of being found lacking, inadequate. Now Hux knows to take them as the expressions of concerns they are. Though that doesn’t mean they ever stopped being irritating.

"I assure you, I have everything under control. When the time comes, I won't hesitate to do everything necessary to secure the victory of the First Order."

Sloane eyes him for a painfully long moment, her gaze appraising, before she raises her glass for a toast.

"To the First Order then."

Hux follows suit.

“To the First Order.”


	12. Unknown Tenderness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Everything about you is smaller than expected," Ren says as he crawls back between Hux's legs, his hands moving up his thighs until his fingertips meet over Hux's crotch.
> 
> Hux flushes with red-hot indignation.
> 
> "I'm not one for insults in the bedroom, Ren," he warns.
> 
> Ren is quick to placate him. "You're misunderstanding. I didn't mean to insult, not this time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now would you look at that, smut.
> 
> Thank you, [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) for whipping this whole thing into shape.  
> And thank you, [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for holding my hand throughout all of this and saving me from more mental breakdowns than I could count.

XI

 

"The sheer disrespect is, quite frankly, astonishing, Admiral. To contact Grand Admiral Sloane in some ill-conceived attempt to exert some influence over me by utilizing our shared history."

Agrippina's expression remains stoic, face pinched tight and her eyes are cold as she regards Hux.

"Expressing concern over the direction the Order is taking after a more than questionable change in leadership isn't a sign of disrespect, Grand Marshal, but proof of a healthy mind capable of critical thinking."

Her insolence has Hux gritting his teeth.

Unfortunately, there's little he can do. As part of High Command her influence reaches far and the resources at her disposal are sorely needed. Even worse, as a daughter of old Imperial stock, the respect and admiration of the other high-ranking officers is a given, meaning that Hux can't dispose of her without risking a dangerous imbalance within the structure of the First Order or, even worse, an uprising. 

"Though I imagine," she goes on, lowering her voice to a drawl, "that you have profited immensely from Leader Snoke's death."

Hux's eyes narrow to slits.

"What are you implying, General?"

She doesn't back down, neither intimidated by his higher rank nor by his fury.

"Implying?" she snarls. "No, I'm stating it as a fact: you spread your legs for Kylo Ren. Why else would he grant you the title of Grand Marshal when Leader Snoke had never considered you worthy of it."

Anger flares in Hux's chest and he puts his hands behind his back so that Agrippina cannot see how he has balled them into tight fists, nails digging into the skin.

He has been careful, discreet. His and Ren's affair has, so far, consisted of nothing but some heated fumblings, fueled primarily by Ren's juvenile libido and Hux's own, misguided attraction to Ren's physical assets. So that—contrary to Agrippina's claim—Hux hasn’t had a chance to spread his legs yet.

(Though it's only a matter of time and logistics. He has already acquired a tube of medical grade lubricant in preparation for the inevitable.)

That Agrippina is convinced he and Ren are sleeping together tells him several things: for one, she must be utterly convinced of the truth of it or she wouldn't have dared to confront Hux with her alleged knowledge. Secondly, she must have an inside source to know even that much, which, by implication, means that whoever her informant is, they’re on the  _ Huntress _ .

He schools his face into a mask of indifferent amusement, swallowing down his quickly rising temper.

"Is that the lastest juicy gossip? Me and our Supreme Leader? Please tell me more. Have we found solace in each other in the wake of our Supreme Leader's death? Or was it a secret affair all along and his passing set us free, allowing us to show what we truly feel for each other?"

The corners of Agrippina's mouth twitch.

"Mockery is unbefitting a Grand Marshal of the First Order," she says.

"So is indulging in baseless drivel, General. And you'd do well to remember that, before you dare accuse me of such atrocities. I neither doubt your skill as a General of the First Order nor do I disregard the respect your troops have for you, but I won't be so lenient should something like this reach my ears ever again."

"You're not my commanding officer, Grand Marshal," Agrippina reminds him.

"No," Hux agrees. "But Supreme Leader Ren is. Would you really like to put your theory to the test and see how much of an influence I have over him?"

Agrippina falls silent.

"That's what I thought. End transmission."

As soon as the pixelated face of Agrippina has dissolved into nothingness, Hux allows himself to relax.

It was a daring bluff, Hux has to admit. Despite their physically intimate relationship Ren couldn't care less about Hux's petty squabbles with the other members of High Command. As long as Agrippina doesn't pose a direct threat to Ren's own leadership, Hux is doubtful that he would come to his aid in a political showdown with Agrippina. Nonetheless, the mention of his name has been enough to remind Agrippina of her unsteady place. 

Though the question who is feeding her secret intel remains unsolved. Hux frowns, staring down at his clenched fist. A rat in his own ranks.

Snarling, he punches Phasma's ID into his communicator, arguably with more force than strictly necessary.

"Sir?"

Her deep voice is a soothing balm upon Hux's frayed nerves.

"Captain, I require your assistance with a rather delicate matter. Conference chamber number four in five."

There’s no hesitation in her voice when she answers. 

"Certainly. I'm on my way."

It takes Phasma four minutes and twenty-three seconds to arrive and when she does, Hux has already pulled up the records of every single man, woman and other who has been sent by Callista Blaise to serve on the  _ Huntress _ .

The sight of the numerous holo-files suspended in the air has her pause but she's quick to regain her composure. Stepping right through one of the files, she walks over to where Hux is standing.

"We have a rat on the ship," he explains without tearing his gaze from the file in front of him.

"A rat?" Phasma asks, sounding as affronted as Hux feels.

After FN-2187's betrayal she started to take signs of non-conformity in her troops rather personally and so Hux has no doubt that she'll handle this situation with the graveness it requires.

"A spy of the Resistance?" she inquires further.

Hux shakes his head, as he discards one file with a wave of his hand. It scatters apart like pixelated dust. "Not the Resistance but one from within our own ranks."

Phasma is no stranger to the convoluted intrigues playing out within the inner circles of the First Order and the constant vying for more power among the high-ranking officers, so she doesn't need to ask what he means when he's talking about a traitor in their own ranks.

She straightens, ready to receive his orders. "How would you like to proceed?"

"I have good reason to believe that our rat is hiding among those sent by Callista Blaise. I want every single trooper evaluated and reconditioned if necessary. If there are any signs of nonconformity you know what to do."

"I reckon you'd like to evaluate the interrogation tapes yourself?" Phasma asks.

"Of course."

"Will Supreme Leader Ren conduct the interrogations?"

Hux contemplates it for a second before he disregards the idea and shakes his head.

"There are more important matters that require our Supreme Leader’s attention, I fear."

While his powers would be undoubtedly useful, Hux is sure that Ren hasn't forgotten who urged him to fill their depleted ranks with soldiers from Callista Blaise's ship. To admit to Ren that there was a spy loose among them, planted there by Julia Agrippina, would be akin to admitting failure.

"And don't inform General Blaise either. We don't know how far this conspiracy reaches. Report only to me. I will inform the Supreme Leader myself if necessary."

Phasma is too professional to argue but he can feel the doubtful stare she's leveling at the back of his head, making the fine hairs on the nape of his neck stand up.

"Dismissed," he says, spitting out the words between clenched teeth.

She takes the hint and salutes him before turning on her heels and leaving the same way she has come.

Despite her reservations—and Hux knows she's having them—he's confident she'll obey his orders and do as instructed.

 

* * *

 

Interrogations are time-consuming, especially when they're as thoroughly conducted as Hux demands and without the help of Ren's Force powers, it takes triple the time to break a man's mind.

But it matters not. Hux can be patient when necessary. All there is left to do is to keep Ren away from the interrogation chambers and resolve the issue before he can stick his too big nose in affairs that don’t concern him.

"You think so loudly, it can be heard on the other side of the ship."

Hux wheels around, almost dropping the glass of Corellian whiskey he has poured himself at the end of his shift, and comes face to face with a heavily breathing Ren.

He's in his training fatigues, the sweat still wet on his skin and his hair pulled up in a messy bun. He must have come directly from his public training session with the troopers.

They were delighted to have their leader back among them, loathe as Hux is to admit it, and cheered when he finally returned after several cycles of absence. Ren indulged them by facing every single man and woman who challenged him in the ring.

Sometimes, the simplicity of men astonishes Hux.

"You reek," he comments once he finds his voice again.

The insult earns him nothing but a thin smile. It aggravates Hux, more so than he would ever care to admit, that Ren has somehow learned to control his mercurial temper and that Hux’s barbs barely elicit a noticeable reaction anymore.

"And correct me if I'm wrong but did I not already state my displeasure at you constantly barging into my rooms? It's a blatant abuse of power."

Hux has yet to figure out how he does it. As Supreme Leader, he has authorization to override all voice commands on the ship, including the voice activated locks to the private suites of the officers, but Hux has special security measures installed that should prevent him from doing so despite this. So far, it hasn't deterred Ren in the slightest.

"I wouldn’t have to if your thoughts didn’t bleed into mine all the time. It disrupts my meditations.”

"Your meditations. Of course," Hux scoffs and procures a second tumbler from the shelf, pours two fingers of whiskey and holds the glass out to Ren.

It has become somewhat of a habit: Hux offering him whiskey and sitting down with him to discuss all new developments in the First Order. He has yet to see Ren actually drink it but he never refuses the offered glass. Sometimes, when he's in a good mood, he goes so far as to entertain himself by manipulating the amber liquid with the Force, making it float out of the glass in glistening pearls and held suspended in the air by sheer willpower, before he lets it fall back into the glass with a splash.

In the beginning, it struck Hux as a waste of his powers, as an almost childish gesture, but now, more often than not, he lets Ren do as he pleases. Having him in an agreeable mood is rare enough as it is, there is no need to risk it by pointing out the obvious.

"Have your meditations yielded any results as to where the Resistance is hiding?" he asks, sipping on his drink.

"Not yet," Ren admits and judging by the crease between his brows he's not particularly delighted to be reminded of this ongoing failure. "But it's only a matter of time."

He said as much before Hux thinks but doesn’t comment. He takes another gulp of his whiskey instead, before his tongue can get him into any further trouble.

"Of course it is, there's no place they could hide where we can't find them. All we need to do is wait," he says after swallowing, the alcohol burning pleasantly in the back of his throat.

Ren's frown deepens.

"I’ve waited long enough," he grumbles. "I've been patient."

Hux snorts. "You don't know the meaning of patience."

"But you do?" Ren shoots back. One lock of hair has freed itself from the confines of the high bun and is falling over his eyes, clinging to his sweaty forehead.

Swallowing the last of his whiskey, Hux puts the tumbler aside and straightens his back.

Without his coat, his slim build is painfully obvious, made even more pronounced when put in comparison to Ren’s overly large body. Nonetheless, Hux holds himself with dignity and poise.

"When I was five years old, my father pulled me out of bed, dragged me down the stairs of our home by my unwashed hair and into the basement where he kept his collection of antique weapons. I had failed to clean them to his satisfaction. He bashed my head against the corner of a durasteel table until my whole world was tinged red. On that day, I swore to myself that I would kill him. I had to wait twenty-four years before I got my chance. So don't you dare lecture me on patience."

It’s an old story, so old in fact, it barely evokes any emotion in Hux anymore but Ren looks at him with wide eyes, the emotion flickering in their black depths indiscernible.

Despite his broad build and overall size, Ren can move disturbingly fast. He leaves Hux no time to prepare for the kiss that is suddenly pressed to his lips.

He tries not to think too much about what has roused Kylo's libido this time. Surely, it can’t have been the retelling of the abuse he suffered at the hands of his father.

"No, not that," Ren breathes into Hux's mouth, picking up on his turbulent thoughts.

He doesn't elaborate and Hux gets no chance to ask. He's hauled off his feet without warning, Ren holding him up with just one arm tucked underneath his thighs. The untouched whiskey he puts back on the shelf with a faint clink.

It takes Ren no more than three wide strides to reach the bedroom and once they arrive there he doesn't waste any time before he puts Hux on the neatly made bed.

"No more interruptions," he says as he drapes himself over Hux's body, forcing him to spread his legs so that he can fit comfortably between them.

His eagerness, if not entirely unexpected, is rather overwhelming. This isn’t how Hux had envisioned this encounter to play out.

"What makes you think I want to do this with you at all?" Hux asks in an attempt to seize back control, putting a hand in between their bodies. Ren is radiating warmth through his training clothes and his heart beats in a steady rhythm that Hux can feel vibrating against his fingertips.

A frown mars Ren’s unfairly handsome face and he rolls his hips against Hux's, rubbing their growing erections together to make his point.

"Arousal is no indicator for consent," Hux argues, voice catching in his throat at another tentative thrust.

"Don't deny me," Ren demands and then, almost too low to hear: "please."

Hux can feel himself harden further at those words, at their sweet delivery. Already, his jodhpurs feel too tight with his erection straining against the zipper, the sensation more painful than pleasant.

Ren doesn't move, pinning Hux to the bed with only his weight. He's waiting.

"Fine," it bursts out of Hux at last, "undress me already."

This time around, Ren is more mindful to keep Hux's uniform intact, unfastening the buttons with remarkable patience. He's clever with his hands, not at all clumsy like Hux has expected him to be.

"Calligraphy requires a steady hand," Ren explains, unprompted and without meeting Hux's questioning gaze.

"Calligraphy…" Hux mumbles and trails off as realization dawns on him: the handwritten note, the ink-stained fingers of Ren's younger self on Korriban.

Hux doesn't ask, doesn't prod any further. Instead he stores this tidbit of information, this little token Ren has offered freely and of his own volition, away in his mind.

With the last button coming undone, Ren moves away, just far enough to allow Hux to shrug out of his uniform. As soon as it has come off, Ren's hand glides between Hux’s legs, cupping him through his jodhpurs. Hux is quick to stop him.

"No," he says, fingers curling tight around Ren's wrist. "My boots first. I won't let you fuck me with them still on and my trousers pooling around my knees."

The lewdness of his words does not fail to evoke the desired effect: Ren's ears, half-hidden by his hair, have turned a scarlet red.

Hux isn't in the habit of taking virgins—which Ren undoubtedly is—to bed, but he can't deny the satisfaction that lies in watching Ren want so much with no idea how to ask for it. Inexperienced as he is, he has no choice but to trust in Hux's expertise.

"Boots," Hux reminds him.

Ren moves reluctantly, as if he's unwilling to relinquish the space he has carved out for himself in between Hux's legs. So that Hux has to urge him on with a none-too-gentle nudge of his boot, his heel pressing into Ren's side.

Ren growls in displeasure, the sound sending an involuntary shiver down Hux's spine. And yet, he yields and shifts on the bed until he’s kneeling at Hux's feet.

The boots are a tight fit and often Hux has to employ the help of Kayfour to pull them off, but Ren does so with ease, baring first one, then the other of his feet.

They seem to hold some inexplicable fascination for Ren, for he takes first the left foot in his hands, pressing his thumb into the soft underside and kneading the flesh with his fingers until Hux is moaning, before moving to do the same with the right.

Hux has heard of planets where touching somebody's feet is considered a sign of great respect. No doubt, as the son of royalty, so has Ren.

"Everything about you is smaller than expected," Ren says as he crawls back between Hux's legs, his hands moving up his thighs until his fingertips meet over Hux's crotch.

Hux flushes with red-hot indignation.

"I'm not one for insults in the bedroom, Ren," he warns.

Ren is quick to placate him. "You're misunderstanding. I didn't mean to insult, not this time."

"Then what did you mean?" Hux presses. Though with Ren's hands rubbing slow circles against his crotch it's difficult to hold onto his anger.

"You're slender, one might even mistake you for delicate if they saw you bared like this," Ren explains.

Any words Hux might have in response die in the back of his throat, smothered by the kiss Ren bestows upon him.

"I know you're not," Ren whispers in between two kisses, his lips red from where Hux has bitten into them. "You've been forged from steel and ice. And yet--"

Hux bites down on Ren's tongue until he can taste blood.

"Shut up," he hisses, glaring up at Ren, his vision half obscured by the hair falling into his eyes, the usual, strict style long ruined by their activities. "Take off your gloves."

Ren discards them without a second thought.

It's not the first time Hux notices the sheer size of his hands and the thickness of his fingers. It's not the first time he wonders how those fingers would feel inside him either.

"Now your tunic," he instructs, tone edging on impatience.

It's undeniably thrilling to have Ren follow his commands so eagerly and Hux catches himself thinking that he could get used to having Ren at his beck and call like this.

A fanciful thought and utterly pointless. He would never ascend to the throne of the First Order with Ren still alive and, no matter the many depraved scenarios his lust-addled brain conjures up, Hux is too rational a man to seriously consider leaving Ren alive for the sake of sexual gratification.

"Look at me," Ren grumbles and Hux snaps out of his reverie, finding himself pulled back into the present.

Of course Ren would demand to be the sole center of attention also in bed.

Pleased to finally have Hux's sole attention on him, Ren starts to take off his tunic, revealing another, tighter shirt underneath. It barely reaches down his sternum.

Hux raises a brow but doesn't comment on the questionable fashion choice.

It has its advantages, after all. The short undershirt allows Hux an unobstructed view of Ren's stomach, his muscles rippling underneath a thin layer of fat.

Above his right hip sits a thick scar and Hux can't resist to touch it, the skin feeling like the gnarly rind of an old tree underneath his fingers.

"It's the scar from the Wookie's bowcaster," Hux muses, tracing the raised edge. If Ren is surprised to hear that he knows as much, then he doesn’t say.

"Show me the rest," Hux demands.

Ren's hands leave Hux only long enough to take off the undershirt before they're back around his waist. He never stops kissing Hux, his tongue and teeth leaving them both breathless. Already, Hux’s neck and shoulders are littered with bruises and bitemarks, the contrast startling against his pale skin.

Ren is greedy, his touch scorching hot wherever he presses his fingers against Hux's skin. His hands are everywhere, on Hux's shoulders, his hips, gliding down his legs and up again until he rubs them over his narrow chest.

"Ren," Hux gasps, squirming when he twists his nipples a little too harshly.

Immediately, Ren relinquishes his hold. Every other time, Hux would have marveled at Ren's obedience but with his cock still trapped inside his too-tight pants, it's difficult to concentrate on anything but the waves of pleasure rolling though him whenever Ren's control momentarily slips and he presses their sweaty bodies together.

"Undress me," Hux demands, somewhat breathless.

Ren kisses him again but as his hands come to rest above the zipper of Hux's pants he hesitates. 

Insecurity is a good look on Ren but Hux would appreciate it more if Ren showed some of his infamous overconfidence and get him naked already.

Tired of waiting, Hux covers Ren's hand with his own and presses down and that at last breaks whatever spell Ren has been under.

The zipper comes undone with a small noise and Hux lifts his hips to make it easier for Ren to pull the pants over the curve of his ass. They fall to the floor with a thud, joining the rest of their rumpled clothes in an undignified heap. 

Hux doesn't care. He stares at Ren who, in turn, stares at the tented front of Hux's regulation briefs.

He descends upon him with a growl, burying his long nose in between Hux's legs, mouthing his cock through the thin cotton.

Caught entirely by surprise, Hux can't help but arch into the sensation, a needy moan spilling past his lips. It's been quite a while since somebody last did this for him. He's overly sensitive and even Ren's uncoordinated caress is enough to have him writhing in the sheets. 

It doesn't take long until the front of his briefs is soaked through, damp with precome and Ren's saliva and sticking to his skin.

"Off," he gasps when Ren digs his nails into the inner side of his thighs, spreading them as wide as Hux's arching muscles allow.

"Off," Hux repeats. "Take my underwear off already!"

Ren lifts his head and Hux has to bite down on his tongue to keep the wanton moan lodged in the back of his throat from escaping. Ren looks downright debauched. His lips are glistening wet and swollen, his long hair falling in messy curls over his eyes.

Hux wants him.

The thought crashes over him like a tidal wave and for the duration of a heartbeat he has trouble breathing.

He wants Ren, wants him for the man he is, wants his dick inside himself. Not because he thinks he can garner Ren's favor by spreading his legs for him but simply because he wants to scream himself hoarse while riding Ren's cock.

If Ren can sense Hux's inner turmoil then he keeps it to himself. Instead, he slides his fingers underneath the elastic of Hux's briefs and slowly peels them off his hips. 

Hux sighs in relief as his cock springs free and when Ren hoists his legs up over his broad shoulders and sucks him down, all his previous reservations quickly evaporate, pushed aside by bright-hot pleasure.

Ren is admittedly sloppy, his technique amateurish but Hux arches into it nonetheless.

What a sight they must make, the Supreme Leader of the First Order and his Grand Marshal, rolling together in the sheets.

Hux blinks through the haze of his own arousal to watch Ren, watch the way his head moves up and down as he sucks his cock, watch as his black hair intermingles with the neatly trimmed patch of red hair between Hux’s legs.

Just when Hux can feel his thighs tense up and his toes curl in his socks—still neatly held up by his sock garters—Ren pulls off, gasping for air.

Hux yanks him close by his hair and seals their mouths in another kiss. Like this, he's almost being folded in half, his cock rubbing against both their stomachs and smearing them with precum.

"I want more," Ren breathes against Hux's mouth, already pulling away again.

Hux holds him tight by his hair.

"Let me see you first," Hux says, running his nails over Ren's scalp. He's rewarded with a gentle shiver that moves through Ren's whole body and makes the fine hairs on his arms stand up.

Ren is quick to catch on to Hux's meaning though reluctant to let go of him. When he finally unbuttons his high-waisted pants his eyes are firmly fixed on Hux's crotch.

Hux hasn't bothered to close his legs after Ren has moved off the bed. The gesture is very much appreciated, if the massive erection that springs free as soon as Ren pulls his pants down is any indication.

Hux raises a brow in question.

"No underwear?"

Ren shrugs, already crawling back onto the bed, his cock bobbing between his thighs. 

Hux stops him with one foot pressed against his chest.

"What is it you want to do with me?" he asks.

Ren throws him a disbelieving look, clearly thinking that the answer should be obvious, but Hux stays adamant.

"I want to taste you again," Ren admits after some terse silence. "Not only your mouth…"

He trails off, unwilling to say more. Hux doesn't need him to.

"You mean here," he says and reaches down, cupping his balls and lifting them out of the way to allow Ren a look at his freshly shaved hole.

Staring unabashedly at the exposed skin, Ren nods.

"Well then,” Hux clicks his tongue, “get to work."

Ren moves forward on the bed until he kneels comfortably between Hux's open thighs, the head of his cock almost touching Hux's skin.

A rather undignified yelp tears itself from Hux's throat as Ren curls both arms around his middle and lifts his lower body off the bed, high enough for his breath to hit Hux's hole.

His legs rest on either of Ren's shoulders, his hips held up by Ren's strong arms. It's not the most comfortable position he has ever been in but Ren knows how to make him forget about the discomfort.

Like everything else about him, Ren's tongue is big and he uses it to lick at Hux in broad strokes.

"You taste different here," Ren says in between two swipes and Hux can feel himself flush. He could have done without Ren analysing the gustatory nuances of his asshole.

"Please spare me the details of--Oh!"

Impatient as ever, Ren doesn't bother to hear Hux out. Instead he presses inside Hux, trying to stretch him with his tongue.

Hux whimpers, his hands tightening in the sheets, and suddenly he's glad that he had taken a shower after Rae Sloane's impromptu visit.

Pain shoots up his spine, tearing him from his thoughts and he opens his eyes to glare at Ren. Next to Ren's head, on the inner side of his left thigh pulsates a red mark, a ring formed by indents of teeth. He has bitten him.

"Don't think of anything or anybody but me," Ren says, his voice hovering between a plea and a threat.

Maybe he doesn't know which it is either.

"Make me," Hux whispers.

Ren's eyes darken at the challenge and he leans down to lick a long stripe from Hux's hole up his taint and to his balls.

Hux doesn't know how long Ren eats him out but by the end of it, he's a twitching, moaning mess. His thighs are shaking with the strain of being put in such an unusual position and the space between his cheeks is wet with Ren's spit.

Not once has he touched Hux's leaking cock or his own. Whatever can be said about the limited stamina of virgins, it certainly doesn't apply to Ren.

"Enough already," Hux gasps at another stab of his tongue. "Any more and I'll be sore without you ever putting your dick inside me."

Ren releases him from his hold and lowers him onto the bed with a gentleness Hux would have thought him incapable of. Daring to throw a glance between Ren's legs, he can see that he's still hard, his cock a deep red and the tip of it drenched in precome.

"Lube," Hux says, eyes firmly fixed on Ren's dick. "In the bedside drawer."

Ren doesn't move, he simply reaches out and waits. For what, Hux realizes only when somewhere behind him the bedside drawer opens and closes with a click. A moment later, the nondescript bottle of lube floats past his head and into Ren's open palm.

"Really?" Hux deadpans.

"It was easier that way," Ren argues, somewhat defensive, before he falls silent.

He remains seated between Hux's spread legs, the bottle of lube grasped in one hand, and shows absolutely no inclination to touch him.

"Your fingers, Ren," Hux says, his patience running thin, "put them inside me."

His sharp tone does nothing to rouse Ren to action. 

Hux sighs and leans up on his elbows, another biting comment already on the tip of his tongue when Ren's unusual expression causes him to halt. He looks insecure, almost lost, and once more he has to remind himself that Ren's experience is limited at best.

“Give me that," Hux says and reaches out.

Ren's reaction is slow, reluctant as he hands the lube over to Hux.

"Watch and learn."

The bottle cap opens with a click and Hux is quick to coat two of his fingers with the thick substance. It doesn't smell like much but Ren's nostrils flare when Hux reaches below and starts to rub the lube into his skin.

There's barely any resistance—courtesy of Ren's thorough previous ministrations—and Hux's middle finger slides in easily enough. He gasps, more for Ren's sake than out of actual surprise and the resulting reaction is everything he could have hoped for.

Ren leans forward, an expression of intense concentration gracing his crooked features, his hands balled up into fists. One doesn't have to be a Force-User to see that he's struggling to stay seated, to not pull Hux close and replace his fingers with his cock.

It's a captivating look and Hux, greedy by nature, decides that he wants more.

The second finger slides in almost as easily as the first and the slight burn that remains is more pleasurable than painful. Hux doesn't even have to feign the wanton moan rolling from his lips as he starts to scissor his fingers, moving them in and out of his hole in slow thrusts.

Ren's attention on him feels like a fiery caress and Hux can't resist the temptation to lift his hips and allow him a more intimate look.

A whimper breaks through the heavy silence and he blinks his eyes open in surprise. To hear such a sound coming from Ren has his dick twitch and a spurt of precome coat his belly.

"Your cock is thicker than two of my fingers and I don't fancy being torn apart trying to ride it," Hux explains and Ren flushes with pride at the hidden compliment.

"You always have to overdo it, don't you?" he goes on, his fingers never once losing their rhythm. "Even your cock is obscene, like everything else about you. Kriff--"

He's talking himself into a frenzy, he knows, and his iron control is slipping but to stop now seems an impossible task.

Once more, he has underestimated Ren. Contrary to all his expectations, Ren has turned out to be a tolerable lover, inexperienced, yes, but susceptible to all of Hux's suggestions and eager to please. He had thought, almost hoped, that Ren would take what he wanted and be done with it. A quick, clean transaction. A favor traded for a favor. Of course, Ren could never play by the rules.

"You're complimenting me with insults," Ren's voice, a little nearer now, cuts through the static haze in Hux's head. He must have moved closer when Hux was distracted by the drag of his own fingers over his prostate but he's still not touching him.

Hux neither denies nor confirms the accusation, his mind otherwise occupied. A third finger joins the others and he’s fingering himself in earnest now, all resolutions to tease Ren forgotten. When he finally finds that small nub inside him, he gives up the last of his pretense and arches into it, mouth falling open in a needy moan.

Caught up in his own pleasure Hux barely realizes it when Ren's restraint finds its limit and he reaches out to slide a hand up Hux’s thigh.

"I want to be the one doing this to you," he whispers, his hold tightening when another thrust of Hux's fingers results in a wet, squelching noise.

Ren's Adam's apple moves in his throat as he swallows, his shoulders tense with anticipation, and Hux is half-tempted to deny him his request just to see him grow even more desperate.

In the end, he gives in and pulls his fingers out of his hole. He grabs Ren’s wrist with the same, lube-stained hand and yanks him close.

"Start with two," he instructs as he presses Ren’s fingers against his wet hole.

There's no warning before Ren shoves inside and Hux keens. His fingers are thick and two are already enough to stretch Hux more than three of his own.

"You brute," Hux gasps. "Slow down."

Ren doesn't apologize but he stills and doesn’t move until Hux has adjusted to the intrusion. This time, when he slides inside, he’s more  cautious .

"You're so warm here," he says and Hux can’t help but groan in disbelief.

"You talk too much," he grits out but is cut short when another tentative thrust grazes his prostate. "Kriff! Ren, do that again!"

Ever so obedient, he does, a little more forceful than entirely necessary, but it has Hux's toes curl in the sheets nonetheless.

"Hux…"

Ren's voice is close, too close, his breath warm against the curve of Hux’s ear. When he opens his eyes (he doesn't know when he has closed them) Ren is hovering above him, his hair falling around his face like a veil.

Hux wants to snap at him but Ren silences all possible complaints with a kiss and another thrust of his fingers.

"I want to be inside you," Ren whispers against his mouth.

"Then do it and don't just talk about it," Hux throws back, voice shaking.

Ren has common sense enough to slather his erection with more lube, his eyes fluttering close as he gives it a few rough jerks.

When he finally presses forward—one hand around the base of his cock, the other over Hux's belly—he's careful, slow, but even with proper preparation and an almost excessive amount of lube, Ren's cock proves a challenge.

Taking a deep breath, Hux forces his muscles to relax. It's enough to allow Ren to get the tip inside, pressing past that tight ring of muscles, and while the stretch is certainly unfamiliar it's not outright painful, not even unpleasant.

Ren stills nonetheless, barely inside Hux, and swallows thickly. His hair is sticking to his face in unruly strands and his mouth is quivering, plump and red from the kisses they've shared. He looks debauched even though Hux is the one being impaled on his cock.

Or part of it, at least.

"More," Hux urges, rolling his hips in hopes of spurring Ren into action.

It has the desired effect and the next thrust has Hux gasping for air. The sheer girth of Ren's cock is overwhelming, enough to have him cry out though he isn’t usually one to be noisy in bed. Already, he feels stretched to his limits, his hole spasming around the hard shaft as his body desperately tries to adjust to the intrusion.

Ren doesn't ask if he’s in pain or if he's uncomfortable and Hux hasn't expected him to but he doesn't just shove the rest of the way in either. Instead, he looks down at Hux with keen eyes, assessing him, searching for any signs of outright discomfort in his no doubt flushed face.

"I'm not made of glass, Ren," he spits out between clenched teeth and promptly bites down on his tongue.

He doesn't sound half as commanding as he has intended or hoped for that matter. On the contrary, his voice is no more than a breathy whisper, needy and hoarse.

Ren hums and, lifting Hux's leg, leans in to kiss the pale inside of his calf.

"I know you're not."

He starts moving again. Sinking in inch by inch, pausing whenever he deems it too much for Hux. Which should be insulting coming from a virgin, as if Hux is the one in need of coddling. Only that his breath catches in his throat whenever Ren thrusts forward and so, deep down, he's glad for the unexpected courtesy. Not that he’d ever admit it.

It feels like hours have passed before Ren is fully sheathed inside him, his balls pressing against Hux's ass, his untrimmed pubic hair tickling his skin. When Ren starts a tentative rhythm it has Hux's shivering.

Ren is big enough that every push and pull has his cock drag over Hux's prostate, soon reducing him to a panting, whimpering mess, much to his own chagrin.

"You’re enjoying this," Ren breathes against his skin, full of wonder. "Me being inside you."

Spurred on by the pleasure Hux is incapable of hiding, his next thrust is more powerful than the last, less hesitant and it has Hux claw at his arm.

"Does that surprise you?" he asks, his nails digging deep into Ren's skin.

Ren doesn't answer immediately, too preoccupied is he with watching his own cock disappear inside Hux at every roll of his hips.

An aura of intense concentration is surrounding him that strikes Hux as almost innocent and he flushes, feeling like intruding on something private, something sacred, even though it's his body Ren is so thoroughly defiling.

"It does," he finally admits. "I would've thought offering yourself up to me, you'd do it with disdain at worst, indifferent detachment at best."

Hux can barely hear him over the slick sounds of their joint bodies. In the furthest recesses of his mind he knows that the implications of Ren's words should alarm him; that he seems to know full well why Hux allows him to use his body as he pleases, that it's only another way to further his own agenda. But the voice of reason, usually so prominent inside his head, is drowned out by his own screams and moans as Ren drops all pretense and begins to fuck him in earnest.

With his size, there’s no need for him to angle his thrust in any particular way to hit Hux's prostate, he does so without trying, and so keeps moving without much finesse, fucking every coherent thought, all of his grandiose plans, all his ambitions straight out of him.

Overcome with a sudden urge and well past the point of caring, he grabs Ren by his hair, pulling him down on top of him so that everything he sees, everything he feels, hears and smells is Ren.

Ren's mouth on his, so that he can lick the faint taste of himself of his lips. Ren's broad body blocking the artificial light from the overhead lamp. His musky smell filling Hux's nose. And his cock, buried so deep inside him, Hux can feel the curve of his balls press against his spread cheeks.

"Hux," Ren whispers, his voice on the edge of breaking. And Hux hates how it doesn't sound like his name at all when said like this: softly, resembling a lover's caress.

There's no doubt that Ren is close.

Hux is under no illusion that he could overpower Ren under normal circumstances but like this, with him caught up in the throws of passion, Hux might have a chance.

Determined, he digs his heels into the small of Ren's back and presses his thighs together on either side of his waist until Ren is forced to cease all movement.

He blinks down at him, expression almost endearing in its confusion but Hux doesn't have the time to marvel at it. He plants one foot firmly on Ren's chest and pushes with all his might, until Ren's cock slips out of him, leaving him empty and gaping.

It takes but a heartbeat and then he's on top of Ren, both hands on his sculpted chest as he presses him into the sheets, their cocks dragging against each other.

Reaching behind himself, Hux grabs Ren's cock and positions it at his entrance. He bears down, forcing it inside himself in one long glide.

Like this, the pleasure is even more exquisite and Hux can't help but throw his head back and let out a moan as he starts to ride Ren's dick. 

For a while, Ren seems content with relinquishing control to Hux, gazing up at him with an almost starstruck expression, his mouth slack and eyes wide as Hux takes his pleasure from him.

Unsurprisingly, the unusual restrain doesn’t last and soon he meets Hux thrust for thrust. 

Whenever Hux lifts his hips, Ren chases after him, impatient to be inside him once more and unwilling to leave him bereft for even a moment. They play this little game for a while until Ren grows tired of it and grabs Hux by the hips to hold him in place, impaled on his cock.

There’s no arguing that Ren's physical strength far surpasses Hux's own and so he has little choice but to relent and let Ren do however he pleases.

His previous caution is but a memory as he pounds into Hux, his fingers pressing bruises into the pale skin.

"Don't you dare come before me," Hux warns when he feels the tell-tale twitch of Ren's cock inside him.

Ren's eyes narrow dangerously and though his grip on Hux's hips never loosens, Hux can feel a phantom touch around his cock, squeezing him, and invisible fingers tugging at his nipples, a dozen hands touching him all over.

"You're doing it again," he whimpers, almost choking on on his own spit when Ren thrusts up, burying himself so deep, Hux fears he'll never be able to sit down again without feeling the aftermath of Ren’s ridiculous cock. "You're using your powers."

His accusation falls on deaf ears, too preoccupied is Ren with claiming Hux's body as his.

It's not in Hux's nature to submit so easily and two can play this game, with or without Force-powers. 

Gritting his teeth, Hux reaches out and rakes his nails over Ren's chest.

The reaction is instantaneous. Ren bucks up, making Hux scream. And if not for the his fingers holding on so tightly to his waist, Hux is sure he would have slipped off his lap.

Hux lifts his hips as much as Ren's unrelenting grip allows and drops down in his lap with a groan, cheeks clenching around the hard dick inside him. He's rewarded with a shuddering groan.

The invisible hands are all around him still, coaxing little sounds of pleasure out of him as they glide over his chest and and legs, his hips and thighs; the touch igniting little fires of pleasure burning him up from the inside out.

Ren's stomach is wet with his precome and Hux knows that he won't last, that he can't win this round.

"Damn you," he curses and reaches out to twist Ren's nipples until the other is gasping at the pain, his hips stuttering to a halt before the grueling pace resumes once more.

"Come for me!" Ren roars.

He pulls out, the tip catching at the puffy rim, and slams back inside. Hux screams.

He comes untouched, spurting come all over himself and Ren's taught stomach where it collects in the slight dip of his navel. 

Hux's whole world turns black, just for a moment, before white light explodes behind his closed eyelids, expanding like a new universe.

With a voice barely his own, so hoarse and needy is it, he screams Ren's name or something close to it. Hux isn't quite sure and it's hard to think with Ren fucking him right through his orgasm, effectively annihilating all coherent thought.

It should be impossible for a man as inexperienced as him to last this long and yet, he's still pounding into Hux's overly sensitive hole long after Hux has spent himself completely, his cock only half-hard anymore but twitching with the the aftermath of his climax and at every roll of Ren's hips.

Ren doesn't slow down, not even when he takes one hand off Hux's waist and runs his fingers through the quickly drying mess on his stomach.

Equal parts revolted and fascinated, Hux watches with wide eyes as Ren lifts his hand to his mouth and licks the come off his fingers.

It should disgust him but instead it only elicits an interested twitch of his spent cock.

Ren throws him a knowing look from underneath his long lashes, his gaze feverish, crazed with lust.

Hux has seen that look before. On the men he took to bed in his younger days when he needed a distraction from the taxing demands of his father and the Order.

Ren is desperate to come and, somewhat placated by his own climax, Hux decides to humor him.

He leans in close, careful not to let Ren's cock slip from his ass, and kisses his way up Ren's neck, to the curve of his ear. He licks it briefly, smiling at the shudder he receives in return, and whispers:

"Fuck me harder." 

And then, pressing down until he can feel the curve of Ren's ball against his ass:

"Fuck me properly."

With a roar, Ren flips them over, his cock slipping out of Hux as he wrestles him onto his knees, one hand holding him up by his hips, the other buried in his hair as he presses his face into the single pillow.

Hux can't help the whimper that escapes him when Ren slams back inside.

There's wetness on his lower back and he realizes with disgust that it's his own come that was splattered all over Ren's stomach and which he didn't bother to clean up before draping himself over Hux's body.

His irritation is short lived when another thrust hits his prostate. His hole is burning, stretched to its limits, but still he demands more.

"Harder!"

Ren obeys, moving with such power, Hux has to hold onto the bed sheets so tightly his knuckles turn snow-white.

"Please," he howls. "Kylo!"

It’s a plea, a prayer, an invocation, a command all at once and that at last tips Ren over the edge.

He comes not with a scream but with a whimper, emptying himself in Hux, the entire length of his body pressed to his back, his lips finding Hux's in a mockery of a kiss.

Hux feels Ren's cock twitch, feels his come coat his tender insides and fill him to the brim.

Ren collapses on top of him in a messy heap, with no regard for Hux's own comfort, not even bothering to pull his softening dick out of Hux's ass.

It's downright rude but Hux doesn't have it in him to push Ren off, not with the deep satisfaction that always comes with a good orgasm slowly seeping into his bones.

The whole room reeks of their combined stench, of sweat and semen.

"Get your filthy cock out of me," he mumbles into Ren's ear when the stretch gets too uncomfortable. Even when soft, Ren is of an impressive size.

Ren moves to do as he has been told, though not quite without complaint, grumbling as he rolls away and onto his back.

Immediately, Ren's spend gushes out of his loose hole, much more of it than should be humanly possible and it soils the already unsalvageable sheets further.

Hux wrinkles the nose at the growing mess between his legs. He's tempted to have a cleaning droid come in and change the sheets but the search for his communicator (buried deep inside his uniform’s pockets, no doubt) seems a task too daring for his current state.

Ren takes the decision from him when he shifts on the bed, making himself comfortable in the puddle of come without seeming to notice it, one arm thrown over his face.

His flaccid cock is resting against his thigh, inexplicably drawing Hux's gaze to it. It's glistening with remnants of lube and semen, and seized by an inexplicable urge Hux leans over and sucks it into his mouth.

Ren releases a growl that rumbles in his chest and his fingers find their way into Hux's hair without him looking, tugging on it but not pulling him off.

The muscles in his thighs are tense when Hux puts his hands on them for better support.

It's disgusting what he does, depraved even, but Hux doesn't pull away until he's confident he has licked all traces of come off Rens cock. 

The taste of it is sharp on Hux's tongue but not entirely unpleasant. He swallows once and wipes his mouth.

He should brush his teeth and take a shower, instruct Kayfour to change the sheets and hope that it will be enough to chase Ren out of his quarters, but sleep pulls heavily at his eyelids, singing its siren song to lure him into blissful oblivion. An irresistible pull.

"Stop it, Ren. I won't fall for the same trick twice. I--"

Turning, he finds Ren fast asleep, lying in a puddle of his own come still, one arm dragged over his face.

Hux frowns, almost affronted by how little of a threat Ren must consider him if he falls asleep next to him without a care in the world.

He would make an easy target like this. That is, if Hux's could bring himself to get up and retrieve one of his many blades.

In the end, sleep is the more tempting alternative and he closes his eyes, lying naked on top of the sheets and as far away from Ren's sweaty body as the width of the bed allows.

 

* * *

 

He dreams of rain. The sound of the steady downpour like the soothing purr of a loth-cat. It calms him, anchors him, drowns out the hushed whispers of the servants who talk about him when they think he cannot hear them. It drowns out the disappointed clicking of Maratelle's tongue that he suspects she only learned to do to express her disapproval at his continued existence in more ways. But most importantly, the rain drowns out Brendol's heavy steps on the rare occasions he comes to see him in his room. Only whenever Hux has displeased him in one way or another, never bringing praise.

It rains often on Arkanis and Hux is glad for it.

Today, he has snuck out. Caused his nanny-droid to shut down and reboot with a few simple alterations to its maintenance programming, done while it was in resting mode. It will take the droid several hours to be operational again. More than enough time for Hux to grab his cloak (the only one he owns) and makes a dash for the door.

He's out of the house, down the sludgy driveway and past the high fence in a heartbeat.

The path is clear, he as walked it often in the short course of his life and never once does he look back.

The Academy is located not far from Scaparus Port but borders on deep woods the recruits are not allowed to enter. But Hux isn't a recruit, not yet. Brendol still hopes for a miracle, that Maratelle will give him a son, a legitimate son to continue the family bloodline. 

Maratelle is older than Hux's father, almost forty, and her time to conceive is running out. Hux has heard the kitchen hand talk about it with the housekeeper.

Sooner or later—and he has no doubt that the day will come—his father will have to see reason and let Hux enroll in the Academy. Then Hux will show him that he's more than the useless weakling Brendol believes him to be.

Lost in thought, he notices the water-filled pothole only when it's already too late.

His rundown boots, more holes than actual shoes, are soaked through, as are his socks, and even though Hux is quick to step out of the puddle, there’s no possible salvaging of either.

Nose pinched in displeasure, he looks down at himself, droplets of rain running down his unprotected neck. It isn't cold but the sensation of wet socks clinging to his skin is a decidedly unpleasant one.

He soldiers on as he always does. After all, he's already in trouble for sneaking out of the house, a pair of wet socks and boots will hardly make a difference in the severity of the punishment he’ll no doubt receive once he returns to the mansion.

Making his way down to the woods, he avoids coming too close to the Academy. The people there know his father and they know of him. It's no secret that Brendol despises his bastard son and Hux has no desire to cross paths with one of his many underlings who believe they can garner favor by rattling him out to Brendol.

Pulling his hood deeper over his face, effectively hiding his fire-red hair, he increases his pace until he comes to the edge of the forest. He takes a deep breath, gathers his courage and steps inside.

He doesn't dare to wander too deep. Just so far that he can still see the high towers of the Academy peeking through the branches. It's still deep enough that he's sure nobody will be able to find him for the next hour or two, at least until his nanny-droid has finished its reboot and will inevitably start looking for him.

The rain isn't as heavy here, most of it gets caught by the broad leaves of the gnarly trees. Hux quickly makes his way through the undergrowth, picking up as many sticks and stones as he can carry.

He uses them to build a miniature dam in a rivulet,  winding its way through the shrub. It's a sturdy construction, strong enough to delay the steady flow of water and he leaves nothing but a small opening to allow it to trickle out in a lazy stream.

Hux likes to believe that he's good with his hands, his fingers long and nimble as if they were made to fumble with such complex constructions. Delicate fingers, like a woman's, his father would say. He reaches out, lifting his arm high above his head and watches the light that's breaking through the branches, spill through his fingers like liquid gold.

Raindrops hit his skin, cold and fresh and new.

Hux stills.

No, not new. He has felt the rain on his skin a thousand times already. The novelty of it has long worn off.

He turns his hand around, looks at his palm and it is like somebody has put a piece of stained glass between him and the world. A shadow falls over him, covering his hand and yet not. It moves as he moves, a bit staggered, like a visual echo. Only that it's not an echo of his own hand.

The one shadowing his is bigger, the nails not as neatly clipped, the skin darker, suntanned, a little dry-looking.

Hux pulls back and presses his fist to his chest, feeling his heart beating frantically inside his ribcage.

Something is not right and he stumbles to his feet, to run home and take the punishment awaiting him like a man if only he'll wake from this strange dream. Because a dream it must be. There's no other logical explanation.

As he turns he finds himself confronted with a pair of long legs and as he lifts his head, terrified, he looks into the face of a young woman.

Hux's first instinct is to run but when she doesn't seem to be interested in him, doesn't even notice his presence, he decides to stay and watch.

The steady drizzle of rain seems to have captured her attention completely. A smile graces her youthful features and her eyes gleam with innocent wonder.

Something in the undergrowth cracks, the sound like an antique gunshot tearing through the silence. 

Both Hux and the girl turn their heads, searching for the source of the noise. A man comes stumbling through the line of trees, his leather jacket hardly offering any protection from Arkanis' damp climate.

His expression is grim but instantly brightens when he catches sight of the woman.

"Rey!"

 

* * *

Hux awakens with a start, eyes wide yet unseeing in the dark as he gasps for air.

He's not alone and for one terrifying moment he fears that his end has come, that he'll be murdered in his own bed but then Ren's deep voice cuts through the terse silence.

"Calm yourself, Grand Marshal. It was nothing but a dream."

Hux blinks, only slowly adjusting to the dark, and takes in Ren's disheveled hair, the bite and scratch marks littering his neck and chest, visible even in the limited light of the room. He shifts on the bed, notices the stinging pain in his lower back and the tell-tale soreness of his bottom. Slowly, the activities of last night come flooding back to the forefront of his mind and he can breathe again.

A dream, Ren has said. But that wasn't just a simple dream.

Suspicion rises in Hux’s chest, together with a flicker of annoyance that seems to be a constant when dealing with Kylo Ren.

"What have you done?" he demands to know, hoping that his displeased expression is visible in the semi-dark.

Ren hesitates, briefly, and only then does Hux notice the fingers in his hair idly brushing away strands of loose hair from time to time.

"You talk in your sleep," Ren finally says.

Hux is quick to protest. "I do no such thing."

Ren doesn't argue, simply taps a finger against Hux's temple.

"You spoke of the scavenger girl."

Hux furrows his brows. The girl? He gasps as the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

"Lights to 100%!" he barks.

As light floods the room, Ren growls and buries his face in his pillow.

Hux pays him no mind. He rolls out of bed, wincing when the dried come on his thighs pulls at his skin, and paces the room searching for his scattered clothes.

"The girl," he repeats while picking his underwear up from the floor. "They whole Resistance, they're hiding on Arkanis."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Feel free to scream at me in the comments or on [tumblr](http://staticraining.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/StaticRaining)


	13. Interlude: Secret Scheming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "These latest developments are worrisome, there's no denying it, Grand Admiral. You’ve seen the recordings from Crait, you’ve read the reports.
> 
> Rae Sloane sits in her private suite on the Huntress, gazing out of the viewports that allow her a spectacular view of the vastness of space as the projection of Julia Agrippina flickers just outside the periphery of her field of vision.
> 
> Of course she has seen the recordings from Crait and what she saw has her worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) for whipping this whole thing into shape.  
> And thank you, [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for holding my hand throughout all of this and saving me from more mental breakdowns than I could count.

Interlude — Rae Sloane

 

"These latest developments are worrisome, there's no denying it, Grand Admiral. You’ve seen the recordings from Crait, you’ve read the reports.

Rae Sloane sits in her private suite on the Huntress, gazing out of the viewports that allow her a spectacular view of the vastness of space as the projection of Julia Agrippina flickers just outside the periphery of her field of vision.

Of course she has seen the recordings from Crait and what she saw has her worried.

"Kylo Ren is unfit to be the leader of the First Order. The battle on Crait proved as much," Agrippina goes on, taking Sloane's silence as agreement.  

"He lost a majority of our ground troops in a battle against but a handful of poorly equipped Resistance fighters. The reports say he insisted on facing what turned out to be a projection of Luke Skywalker alone, thus enabling the Resistance to flee aboard a ship that has been identified as the Millenium Falcon. And now he's declared himself our Supreme Leader. Shall I go on?"

Sloane gives her a warning glare. They may be old acquaintances but she still outranks Agrippina and in a world such as theirs, blood and rank are everything. She’d do well to remember that.

"You made yourself clear," Sloane says, voice icy cold.

Agrippina refuses to back down. "This cannot be what you had in mind when you raised the First Order out of the ashes of the Empire."

Sloane heaves a tired sigh.

"As Snoke's apprentice, Kylo Ren has as much of a claim on the title of Supreme Leader as you or me," she argues.

Agrippina bristles at those words.

"Surely, you can't believe that. He may be Lord Vader's heir but he's not Snoke's. And even Vader knew better than to covet the Emperor's throne. He was a tool. A powerful one, no doubt, but a tool nonetheless. So is Kylo Ren."

On that, at last, they can agree.

When Kylo Ren welcomed her onboard the  _ Huntress  _ he certainly looked the part of the Supreme Leader, with his carefully combed hair and heavy cape. But underneath all those layers of rich fabric hid a boy desperate for validation and praise.

Those weren’t the marks of a competent leader. Yet still, his troops have stood at attention, not a hair out of place, eagerly awaiting his every order. He commanded if not respect then at least fear.

It’s an intriguing contradiction, his eagerness to please paired with his desire for power. A combination predestined for conflict. Which is the last thing the Order needs right now.

"A dangerous tool at best," she allows. “Like a malfunctioning blaster, just as likely to kill its owner as their enemy.”

Armitage believes he can tame this beast of a man and has apparently been partially successful in doing so by using his body. Sloane doesn't question his methods—it's none of her business what he does in his own bed and to which ends—she only questions their effectiveness.

Meanwhile, Agrippina nods solemnly, pleased to be in agreement with Sloane.

"The Order needs a new leader. Someone whose loyalties are undisputable. Someone whose aspirations run deeper than a childish desire for revenge brought forth by a grudge with one's family."

There's no arguing that estimation, so Sloane doesn't try.

"Indeed, General. Anybody in particular who comes to mind?"

"You, Grand Admiral."

It's a lie. Agrippina has every intention of ascending to the highest rank of the First Order herself. Sloane can respect that much determination, but Agrippina’s insincerity is disappointing. As if Sloane would ever fall for a tactic as simple as that: appealing to her ego. 

"Of course,” she replies dryly. “Who else but me?"

Agrippina's stern expression shifts and a flicker of doubt brightens her cold eyes.

"I pass, General," Sloane goes on. "I did my part when I rallied the survivors of the Empire's collapse under the banner of the First Order and brought them together in the Unknown Regions, to emerge stronger and more powerful than before."

A restored empire, a renewed empire, that had been her goal for the last 30 years and if not for Kylo Ren then surely, she would have seen this dream realized before her death. It was on others now to reap the fruits of her labor. People other than Kylo Ren.

"Grand Marshal Hux is more than capable of leading the First Order and he seems to have some influence over Kylo Ren," she says.

Her suggestion is met with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Agrippina’s mouth is no more than a thin line as she presses her lips together, trying and failing to mask her displeasure.

"I mean no disrespect to your charge and I'm quite aware of his ambitious nature but he's young and inexperienced," Agrippina says, scoffing at the mere idea of Hux as the leader of the First Order.

Instead of answering, Sloane watches Agrippina's projection with piercing eyes.

Armitage is young indeed but that’s not Agrippina’s actual chief concern. She's a cunning, pragmatic woman but incapable of rising above her own prejudices concerning Hux and the circumstances of his birth. She will never accept a man whom she considers of lower status as her leader, someone she sees as nothing more than a bastard. 

Armitage's age, his alleged inexperience are merely smokescreens for the true, underlying issue: that Agrippina's arrogance led her to believe that the First Order is her birthright, while Armitage is little more than a parvenu.

"We can't trust him not to betray us to Kylo Ren," Agrippina argues further when Sloane stays silent. It’s clear her irritation is increasing steadily, though she makes a commendable effort to hide it and keep up a mask of professionalism.

"His loyalty has always lain with the First Order," Sloane says. "What makes you think that has changed?"

Agrippina takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, preparing to reveal a secret Sloane already knows.

"I have reasons to believe that he and Kylo Ren are lovers," she says, spitting out the word ‘lovers’ like the taste of it on her tongue is utterly revolting to her.

The direction Ren and Armitage’s relationship has taken is worrisome, to say the least, but it's nothing Sloane hasn’t been aware of already, so her surprise is limited.

Agrippina's face falls when her supposedly great revelation fails to provoke the expected outrage.

She's quick to collect herself, eyeing Sloane with exasperation. "You knew."

Sloane shrugs.

"Grand Marshal Hux is not in the habit of discussing his private affairs with me, even though it’s true that we have a rather close relationship."

It's neither admittance nor outright denial but Agrippina is smart enough to read between the lines.

"If the two are in an intimate relationship then it's highly unlikely he'll betray Ren," she argues.

Sloane chuckles softly, shaking her head in disbelief. Agrippina doesn't know Armitage very well if she thinks he'd let something as frivolous as emotions come in between him and his lofty goals. 

Besides, as she has understood it, the relationship with Ren is purely physical in nature and will only continue for as long as Armitage deems it beneficial.

No, Armitage would never be so foolish as to develop any romantic feelings for Kylo Ren. However, Sloane isn't sure he hasn’t bitten off more than he can chew if he believes he can control a Force-User with the allure of his body alone. But Agrippina doesn't need to know that.

"You’re underestimating him, Julia. When the moment comes, he'll prove that his loyalty is with the First Order, always."

Agrippina doesn't look convinced but she takes her victories where she can.

"So you agree?” she asks. “Kylo Ren is a liability and needs to go?" 

Sloane nods. "Certainly."

She doesn't harbor a personal grudge against Ren, not like Agrippina apparently (and what an interesting story that must be) but her priorities lie with the Order and Ren is undoubtedly a danger to its continued survival.

"What are you proposing?"

Agrippina straightens, the lines around her mouth deepening in what Sloane considers is supposed to be a smile.

"A coup de grâce, plain and simple. Both General Frumentar and General Blaise have already pledged their support. With our combined forces it should be a simple thing to bring down Ren."

"He's a powerful Force-User and so are his personal guards. How do you intend to beat them?" Sloane asks, uncrossing her legs as she leans forward in her seat.

Judging from her deepening smile, Agrippina has anticipated that question.

"According to my sources, Kylo Ren's guards are currently not on the  _ Huntress. _ Instead they’re employed on a mission to scout the galaxy for signs of the Resistance. We need not fear their interference."

Sloane isn't as confident. 

"Which would leave us with only one Force-User to take care of. The one rumored to be as powerful, if not more so, than Darth Vader."

Vader is long dead but his name still inspires fear, inspires a certain kind of anxiety that simmers just underneath one's skin whenever it’s muttered in a hushed whisper, even more so when spoken out loud.

Agrippina, just like Sloane, had known Vader personally and knows the tales of his ruthlessness, of his power. It would do her well to remember that Kylo Ren stems from the same cursed bloodline.

"Don't worry, Grand Admiral," she assures her, struggling to remain confident. "Kylo Ren will be taken care of."

"And Grand Marshal Hux?"

Agrippina hesitates for the duration of a heartbeat before she answers.

"If he's as loyal to the Order as you claim he is then I see no reason why he shouldn’t remain in his position once Ren has been removed as Supreme Leader."

Doubtful, but Sloane lets it slide, for now.

"It seems you have everything perfectly under control," she says, leaning back into the cushions, arms crossed over her chest. "Which leaves me with but one question." 

Agrippina stays motionless, every muscle in her body tense.

"What do you need me for?" Sloane asks. "Surely you haven't contacted me just so I could give a stern lecture on respecting your elders to Hux?"

No, of course not. That Agrippina has found her at all is an impressive feat. There was a reason she chose a nondescript planet in the Outer Rim territories on which to disappear, cut off from the rest of the galaxy and left to her own devices without the interference of old Imperials or the First Order. 

There's more to Agrippina's plea for help and she has the decency to cut straight to the point and not insult the both of them by pretending that her only intention was catching up with an old friend to complain about their unruly charge.

"You made a planet your base of operations that can't be found on any of the current star maps, that is located deep in the Outer Rim and only inhabited by half-sentient beasts. A dreary planet. But it hasn’t always been like that, has it?" she asks.

Agrippina is resourceful, Sloane has to give her that. 

"No," she agrees, playing along for the moment. “Dromund Kaas used to be a Sith world, crown jewel of the old empire. But now? It lies abandoned, bare of any sentient life with the exception of a few Sith fanatics.”

The corners of Agrippina's mouth curl in a miniscule smile.

"Sith fanatics which you subjugated upon your arrival and with the help of only a handful of troops," she says.

"Half-wits at best," Sloane argues. "With absolutely no command over the Force. Which means they'd be of no use to you in your war against Kylo Ren."

Agrippina's smile widens, her waxy skin pulled unnaturally tight over her protruding cheekbones.

"It's not the Sith fanatics I'm interested in."

Sloane raises a brow, having grown tired of whatever game Agrippina is playing already.

"What is it you’re interested in then?"

Agrippina's eyes flash with determination.

"I'm glad you asked."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Feel free to scream at me in the comments or on [tumblr](http://staticraining.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/StaticRaining)
> 
>  **ATTENTION PLEASE:** I'll be on vacation for the next two week, so this fic will go on a little hiatus! But worry not, regular posting will resume after that!


	14. Waging War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Resistance is hiding on Arkanis."
> 
> That at last catches Ren's attention. Hux can see his back muscles shift and tense up at the mention of the Resistance.
> 
> Ren raises his head and stares at Hux, his eyes so sharp it feels as if they could cut right through him and lay bare his deepest, darkest secrets.
> 
> "And what," he asks, sitting up in the bed, the sheets falling away to reveal his broad chest, "brought on that sudden epiphany?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm back! Thank you all so much for your patience! I had some wonderful holidays and met up with some wonderful friends of mine. I also want to thank all of you who left such lovely comments! You're the best!
> 
> A big, fat thank you also to [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) for whipping this whole thing into shape.  
> And [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for holding my hand throughout all of this and saving me from more mental breakdowns than I could count.

XII

"The Resistance is hiding on Arkanis."

That at last catches Ren's attention. Hux can see his back muscles shift and tense up at the mention of the Resistance.

Ren raises his head and stares at Hux, his eyes so sharp it feels as if they could cut right through him and lay bare his deepest, darkest secrets.

"Arkanis?" he asks, one eyebrow raised.

"Think about it," Hux argues as he puts on his favorite robe, hiding his bruised body from Ren's indiscreet gaze. "Arkanis is under New Republic rule. It's a remote planet of little political importance. Wealthy yes, but overall insignificant. Should the government of the planet have Resistance sympathizers among their ranks then it’s entirely possible that they have offered Organa and her dirty lot of scoundrels protection. Not to mention the Council of Elders that has always revered Organa and wields immense influence."

"And what," Ren asks, sitting up in the bed, the sheets falling away to reveal his broad chest, "brought on that sudden epiphany?"

Hux tuts at him.

"Not an epiphany. I merely connected all the dots. Basic logic is what I used to come to this conclusion. You should try it some time."

Ren growls in warning and Hux is quick to elaborate before his already limited patience runs out.

"When you were unconscious and I touched you, I saw parts of your memories," he explains. “I saw the scavenger girl in the rain. She was on Arkanis."

Hux throws a look over his shoulder, watching Ren's every reaction. He’s surprisingly collected, a little tense perhaps but nowhere near as agitated as is usually the case whenever the girl he considers his nemesis comes up in conversation.

"You wouldn't have recognized it," Hux goes on. "You've never been to Arkanis. I, on the other hand, was born there."

Ren appears doubtful.

"And you spent a total of how many years on the planet? Five? Not too long ago you dismissed the visions the Force sent me as charlatanry. And now you're willing to gamble our victory in this war on a simple dream?"

Hux scoffs.

"Don't be ridiculous. I will do no such thing."

He pauses and watches Ren closely, allowing his gaze to linger for longer than strictly necessary. But the sight of him in Hux’s bed is an unexpectedly enjoyable one, with the way he lies there as if he belongs in it, showing not the slightest inclination to leave. 

"Call your knights back from whatever backwater planet you have sent them to,” Hux says. “If the Resistance hides on Arkanis then your lackeys should be able to find them, shouldn't they?"

Hux tears his gaze away from Ren's naked form and goes to search for his missing datapad. It must be in the room somewhere. He's sure he had left it on the bedside table before Ren fucked all coherent thought out of him.   
  
"While you do that, I'll instruct Frumentar to have his agents on Arkanis keep an ear to the ground and inform us about any rumors pertaining to the rebel scum," he goes on, eyes roaming the bedroom.   
  
"Where is this kriffing datapad," he curses softly underneath his breath.   
  
"This one?"   
  
Hux looks up and indeed, nestled in Ren’s massive palm, is his missing datapad. He hurries over to the bedside and snatches it out of Ren's open hand.   
  
"That one, yes."

When he presses his thumb to the biometric lock, the pad comes to life with a gentle ping, unlocked by his fingerprint.   
  
"You should consider offering a reward for any and all information on the whereabouts of Leia Organa and her scoundrels."   
  
As expected, Ren's features stiffen at the mention of his mother but Hux cares little for his delicate feelings, even less so after Ren had forced him to recount the horrors of his childhood. It's an admittedly petty move but too tempting an opportunity to pass up on.   
  
"What makes you think that a planet that has been under New Republic rule for the last thirty years would sell out Organa to the First Order?" Ren asks, his full mouth pulled into a snarl.   
  
"Because," Hux answers, just shy of being condescending, “the Resistance is not the New Republic. There's no arguing that they have allies but so do we. And I might know just the person to help us.”   
  
Ren throws him a questioning look, openly intrigued, and Hux offers him a razor-sharp smile in return.   
  
“Gather your knights. We will have need of them soon.”   
  
Hux pauses, suddenly realizing his presumptuousness in trying to command the man who he is supposed to be his superior.   
  
"That is,” he amends, “if you approve of that course of action."   
  
Ren takes his sweet time answering, his dark eyes boring into Hux, his gaze travelling down the lines of his body. And even though Hux is dressed in one of his morning gowns and Ren is the one whose modesty is barely preserved by the bedsheet draped over his lap, Hux is the one feeling naked and exposed.   
  
"Do what you must," Ren finally allows and all tension drains from Hux's body.   
  
"Of course," he says, already internally berating himself for sounding so eager to please, "I'll get to it immediately."   
  
A soft chuckle stops him in his tracks while he's on his way to his wardrobe to put on a new uniform.   
  
He turns and throws Ren a look over his shoulder, a question in the curved line of his brow.   
  
"Maybe you should consider a shower first, Grand Marshal."   
  
Hux can feel the flush creep up his neck and when he closes the refresher door behind him his skin is still burning hot.

 

* * *

Establishing contact with Carise Sindian is surprisingly easy. When Hux sends an encrypted message to her last known whereabouts it takes barely an hour for her to answer it.

Her hatred for Leia Organa must run deep if she's so eager to establish contact with him, despite their differences in the past.

The holo-call connects and the image of Carise Sindian slowly materializes before Hux's eyes.

She has aged since he had last seen her but her beauty is undeniable still. A pretty face with an ambitious mind behind it. If Hux were inclined to women he might have fancied her. As it stands, he only considers her a potential ally and a capable politician. Which is just the thing he needs.

"Lady Carise, a pleasure to see you again after all these years."

Flattery doesn't come easily to him and so he keeps it to the bare minimum, despite knowing how much she enjoys to be reminded of her own charms.

His efforts are rewarded with an indulgent smile.

Hux has no doubt that, had Carise been here in the flesh, she would have offered her hand for him to kiss at this point. Thank the Emperor's ashes, she isn't.

"Armitage," she purrs, his name sugary sweet the way it rolls off her tongue.

There are only a few years separating them and yet she insists on speaking to him like one would to an insolent child.

"You look tired, my dear. How is your father?" she asks.

Hux knows this game all too well. Seemingly harmless chatter that's intended to relax him and lull him into a false sense of security while she is trying to coax information out of him without ever offering any in return.

He can't exactly blame her. The Order had quickly cut all ties with her once her involvement with it became public and as far as Hux can tell, she's not too pleased about it.

"He's dead," he says. What harm could there be in her knowing, after all. "And so is Supreme Leader Snoke. Kylo Ren leads the First Order now. Though you might be more familiar with him as Ben Solo."

Carise’s head snaps up so fast Hux can hear the bones in her neck crack.

"Ben Solo?" she echoes in disbelief.

Even within the First Order it's not common knowledge that Kylo Ren was born with a different name. A name connected to one of the most powerful families of Force-users in the galaxy. But it's knowledge worth far more than any riches or gold. Hux has just given Carise a generous gift.

He’s confident she will return the favor.

"Yes," he says. "Ben Solo, son of Leia Organa and Han Solo. Though I wouldn't call him that to his face if I were you."

Understanding blossoms on Carise's face and quickly morphs into astonishment and then intrigue.

Hux has her on his hook.

"I'll be honest with you, Armitage--"

"I'd appreciate that," he interrupts, relishing the offended look on her face.

"When the Republic caught wind of our...collaboration and I lost my rightful seat on the Senate as well as my royal titles, I was devastated. Even more so when the Order, which I contacted in the foolish hope that they would offer help, ignored me. You and your organization, you have abandoned me."

That has always been the problem with Carise: her belief that the world owed her so much more than what she had been given.

Hux swallows the sharp retort lying on the tip of his tongue and schools his face into a mask of moderate compassion.

"I know, Lady Carise, and for what it's worth, I apologize. The decision to offer you aid in your time of need wasn't mine to make, but my father's. His decision was final."

Not quite the truth, admittedly. He had indeed no say in that particular matter but even at that time, he didn't consider her particularly valuable and therefore didn't make the effort to sway his father's decision.

But things change and Hux might have use of Carise now.

"This is what I will offer you, Lady Carise: the restoration of all your titles, the protection of the First Order and a seat on Arkanis' new council once the planet has been annexed."

Carise's pretty face slackens in surprise, her deep-red mouth a perfectly shaped circle. It lasts for barely a heartbeat before she regains her composure and surprise makes way for suspicion.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Grand Marshal. The Council of Elders is outside the jurisdiction of Arkanis or the First Order. They will never restore my royal titles, bootlickers of the New Republic that they are."

“Well,” Hux argues, “then I'd say it's high time for the Council of Elders to abdicate, don't you think?"

Carise's eyes widen at the implication of those words but Hux can detect no disgust in their depths, only the feverish glow of determination.

"What are you planning?" she asks, voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper.

"I have reason to believe that Leia Organa and the pathetic remains of the Resistance are hiding on Arkanis. As you can imagine, Supreme Leader Ren has some personal dealings with Organa, family matters that need to be sorted out. As of yet, we have no hard proof that Organa is indeed on Arkanis or that the council has granted her asylum."

Carise's purses her lips, a sardonic half-smile playing around her sensual mouth.

"You want me to find her," she says.

Hux nods.

"Yes. Apart from what I've already promised you, I'm sure Supreme Leader Ren would be more than willing to pay a generous amount of credits to whomever can bring him definite proof of his mother's whereabouts."

"And then what?" Carise asks, not as easily distracted by the cheap allure of credits as Hux might have hoped. “Even if Organa is hiding on Arkanis; the council would never hand her over to the First Order. They’re loyal to the New Republic and they revere Organa. Of course, they don't publicly endorse the Resistance but they'd never betray one of them either.”

Unfortunately, Hux has to agree.

"Arkanis won't give you Organa without a fight," Carise says.

Hux eyes her closely, watches the way she flips her hair back with one bejewelled hand. There's an underlying sense of entitlement to her every move, an arrogance cultivated by years spent in comfortable leisure, surrounded by beautiful kitsch and unnecessary comforts.

All of this she lost, but at her core she remains the same. Pretty, yes, and blessed with a keen intellect, but thinking too much like a politician.

Hux smirks at her.

"Oh, I certainly hope so."

 

* * *

 

Once his dealings with Carise have concluded, Hux's way leads him to the bridge—despite an overwhelming urge to return to his quarters first and see if Ren is still lying gloriously naked in his bed.

In the end, his sense of duty—paired with a flicker of annoyance that he would even sink so low as to entertain this quite frankly ridiculous idea at all—is stronger, and he makes his way down the streamlined corridors, the stinging pain in his backside a constant reminder of the previous night.

When he arrives on the bridge, he's greeted by a sight so out of the ordinary it has him stumble to a rather undignified halt.

Ren is there, dressed in the same opulent robes he wore to welcome Rae Sloane on board. He’s standing tall and proud—so unlike his usual slouching posture—and when he turns, Hux is involuntarily awed by the gentle sway of his full hair, washed for once and combed to a shine. 

"Ah, Grand Marshal, just in time. Join me," he says and Hux snaps out of his daze.

As he steps up to the dais overlooking the control aisles, Hux is all too aware of the curious glances thrown his way.

It seems Ren is in an exceptionally good mood. Which the entire crew is comically unaccustomed to. No wonder, considering that they lived most of their lives on board the Finalizer, carefully maneuvering around the violent moods of the very same man who now appears before them all but elated.

Hux wouldn't go so far as to call him chipper but the usual dark aura surrounding him like an approaching thunderstorm has mellowed to a warm summer downpour that leaves behind the invigorating smell of new life and wet earth.

Hux furrows his brows.

It has been a long time since he last smelled the earth after rain, too long to remember it as vividly as he does now.

He blames the strange dream from last night and shakes his head, banishing those rogue thoughts from his mind as best he can. It’s in vain, for the scent lingers and magnifies with every step that brings him closer to Ren.

He comes to a halt next to him, so close their shoulders are touching whenever Ren breathes in. They stand like equals.

Ren notices. How could he not when every pair of eyes is on Hux, every mouth is hanging open, every man and woman stunned into silence by his audacity?

The feared tantrum fails to materialize, the gentle curves of Ren's face don't contort in anger and no invisible hand tightens around Hux's neck.

"I have commanded my knights to return. They will arrive in less than a cycle."

Hux stands tall next to Ren, satisfaction softening the harsh lines around his eyes and mouth as he studies the holographic galaxy map laid out before him. Scattered throughout the stars are seven red dots, indicating the Knights of Ren and their positions.

"Excellent," he says, charmed when Ren's chest swells with pride at the simple praise. “My contact on Arkanis has pledged full support. On the condition that we will restore her royal titles and assure her a seat on the planet's council.”

Ren's mouth twitches but there's no shift in his body, no sudden tension in his shoulders that would suggest anger. On the contrary, everything in his posture and expression suggests amusement.

"The goal was to annihilate the Resistance," he reminds Hux, "not to reconquer Arkanis."

"Perhaps," Hux allows with a shrug, "but why not kill two purra-birds with one stone? We have to start building our empire somewhere."

The idea intrigues Ren; the hunger in his eyes so profound, Hux feels it as if it's his own. The air grows heavy and hot as they stare at each other and Hux has to swallow a lump suddenly forming in his throat. 

Ren's gaze follows the movement and unbidden, the memories of the previous night, when Ren buried his teeth in his white flesh and sucked dark bruises into his skin, come rushing back to the forefront of Hux's mind.

"The New Republic won't leave such actions without consequences," Ren says.

He's only teasing, displaying some rare sense of humor. He couldn't care less about the potential political fallout of their decisions. Hux finds himself wanting to play this little game of ‘what if’ anyway.

"Won't they?” he asks, feigning astonishment. “The capital of the New Republic is no more, pulverized just like the rest of the Hosnian system. The Republic itself is in shambles. There's nobody who would dare oppose us now. What do we have to fear?"

Ren’s eyes burn with an intensity that has Hux's stomach tighten with the first pangs of arousal.

"Arkanis is a trade planet with no significant military power to speak of,” Hux continues, wetting his lower lip. “They used to rely entirely on the protection of the Republic fleet. With them gone they're all but defenseless."

He receives no reply, the silence more disconcerting than anything Ren could have said.

"Thousands of troopers are anxiously awaiting your command, Supreme Leader. Your knights are on their way to aid you in battle and the new hyperspace tracking device has been successfully installed on the  _ Huntress _ . Victory is only a matter of time," Hux urges.

"That is, if the Resistance is really on Arkanis," Ren points out, throwing Hux's own previous doubts back at him.

As sceptical as Hux has been of Ren's Force-vision, that outcome would indeed be preferable. 

Ren’s own personal vendetta aside, conquering the planet would be a strategically sound move: it's rich, with plenty of resources that could be used to build a fleet big enough to subjugate all of the known galaxy and finally put Julia Agrippina in her place.

Hux hasn't forgotten the mole on his ship that's masquerading around as one of their own. So far, the search for the culprit has yet to yield any results but should Hux be successful in disposing of Agrippina then that shouldn't pose a problem anymore. What use is a mole if they have nobody to report their findings to, after all?

"Do you believe they are?" Hux asks, watching Ren’s tight-lipped expression closely.

Ren doesn’t hesitate.

"Yes."

"Then I fear an invasion is inevitable," Hux muses, tapping a finger against his chin, drawing Ren’s gaze to the curve of his lips.

"Why are we wasting valuable time then? As soon as my knights have returned, we'll attack," Ren says, still very obviously distracted by Hux’s red mouth.

And there's Ren's usual temper, his indiscretion, his inner unrest. It's still irritating, to a degree, but now Hux feels like he's better equipped to deal with it.

"We shouldn’t attack before we have definite proof for Arkanis’ involvement with the Resistance," he argues, his gloved hand brushing Ren’s arm.

The miniscule contact has the desired effect: Ren exhales, the tension in his shoulders dissipating. He turns to Hux, the galaxy map before them forgotten.

"They’re on Arkanis, I can feel it," he argues though his voice lacks its usual biting undertone.

"Maybe so, but in the eyes of the galaxy that will hardly be enough to justify invading the planet. Should we attack them unprompted, we will appear as the aggressors in this conflict and systems that have been neutral before might join forces with Arkanis out of sheer sympathy. We need to avoid that at all costs."

Ren opens his mouth in protest but Hux is quick to hush him.

"We need more tangible proof, something that justifies our intrusion in the eyes of the masses. You tasked me to come up with a strategy for this battle. So I did. Will you hear it?"

Ren nods, slowly, and Hux rewards him for it with another caress, a featherlight touch to his elbow, carefully hidden from the curious gazes of the bridge crew.

"Let Frumentar and his spies investigate. Wait until we have received feedback from my on-planet contact. And then, when we know for certain, make the council of Arkanis an offer: they hand over Organa and the rest of the Resistance or the First Order will consider the government of Arkanis terrorist sympathisers and act accordingly."

"And what if they agree to give us what we want? What if they hand over the Resistance?" Ren asks, "How will we justify an attack then?"

Hux laughs, amused by the mere suggestion.

"They won’t. Both the Elder Houses and the council are loyal to Organa, have been so since the beginning and even through the revelations of her parentage. They’re incurable idealists and those make the worst politicians. It’s a wonder she hadn’t tried to contact them on Crait."

Maybe she has, through other means than the outdated comm-systems left behind on the bleak planet. Surely, the  _ Millenium Falcon _ must have a working communications system as well.

It doesn’t matter, in the end. They’re on Arkanis, of that Hux is certain and it’s time the whole galaxy learns this.

"I thought a speech would do nicely to convey our objectives with the grandeur such an occasion requires. I will write it and you,” —Hux looks Ren up and down, eyes momentarily lingering on his broad chest— “will deliver it to the council."

Ren's face falls immediately. A reaction Hux has predicted already, though it doesn't make Ren's indignation any less entertaining to witness.

"A speech?" he echoes in disbelief.

"Yes," Hux agrees, looking up to meet Ren’s incredulous gaze once more.

"Speeches are your expertise, Grand Marshal, not mine," Ren grumbles, quick to disregard the idea.

It's true, to an extent. Hux has always been and still is largely responsible for the propaganda machine of the First Order, including the grandiose speeches and announcements proclaiming their many victories. There’s no denying that he enjoys this particular aspect of his work immensely (everybody who has been there on that fateful day on Starkiller Base can attest to that) but this time it’s on Ren to strike terror and fear into the hearts of their adversaries.

"Perhaps," Hux allows. "But this is the start of a new era we'll be heralding. The galaxy needs to know that we're to be feared. That you're to be feared. That even without Snoke we're a force to be reckoned with. You can't hide behind a mask forever, Ren."

Ren's eyes flash with anger, red like an igniting fire, and he crowds Hux with his body, suddenly appearing broader and taller than he is.

Hux doesn't back down. He stands his ground, his own chest brushing against Ren's with every measured intake of breath.

"I'm not hiding," Ren hisses. “Not from anybody or anything."

"Is that so?" Hux asks, pouring more salt into an already open wound. "You proclaimed yourself Supreme Leader of the First Order, so I’d advise you to finally start acting like it. If you can't shoulder the responsibilities that come with such a position and expect me to do all your work for you then you should hand over the crown now."

The challenge rings clear in the cold silence of the room. 

Hux knows he's playing with fire but despite the frustration evident in Ren's unfairly intriguing face and the tension radiating off him, he doesn't retaliate with violence and, forced to concede to his point, lets Hux’s insolence slide.

"You want me to be seen," he says, his disquiet at the mere idea palpable in every word.

Hux has little sympathy for him. Such is the burden of leadership. If Ren had not wanted it he shouldn’t have declared the Order his when they stood surrounded by the burning remnants of the  _ Supremacy _ , with his hand around Hux’s neck.

"I want you to show those people that the First Order and its Supreme Leader are not to be taken for fools," Hux says, softening his voice for the sake of keeping the fragile peace between them intact.

Ren falls silent, his long hair falling around his face in thick strands that have Hux's fingers itch with the urge to pull on them.

"I’ll make sure the whole planet, the whole galaxy is watching while you demand the surrender of the terrorists whom they have illegally granted asylum," Hux pushes when Ren remains unresponsive.

The promise of greatness does as intended, rousing Ren’s dormant hunger and his nostrils flare as he takes in a shuddering breath.

"So when we inflict war upon Arkanis, it’s the council and the Resistance the people will blame," he says.

"Precisely," Hux says, pleased with him for catching up so quickly.

He’s not quite convinced yet though. Hux can almost see the battle raging inside him, his desire for blood and vengeance wrestling with his so often neglected common sense.

Hux tightens his hold, putting more pressure on where his hand is resting against Ren’s arms. In the end, it’s what tips the scales in his favor and Hux can call another victory his own.

"I defer to your expertise, Grand Marshal," Ren allows and Hux’s eyes flash, his pale face glowing with pride at the open approval. Approval that was given willingly and for the whole crew to hear, so that there would remain no more doubts about how high he stands in Ren’s favor.

"Prepare that speech. We will review it after today’s Gamma shift."

It’s a tight deadline but Hux is a skilled orator and the first draft is already forming in his mind as he inclines his head and Ren dismisses him with a careless wave of his hand.

 

* * *

 

"It pleases you that it's your home planet we'll be reclaiming."

Hux turns from where he's seated at his desk, a dozen different drafts of the speech Ren has commissioned scattered across the surface.

"I only spent the first five years of my life on that planet. Too short a span to develop any feelings of sentimentality," he says, dismissing the idea easily.

Ren is not entirely wrong though. The idea of reclaiming his birth planet from the New Republic and transforming it into the new capital of the First Order's empire holds a certain appeal. Especially since the few memories he has of the place are entirely unpleasant, thanks to both Brendol’s unconventional parenting and the New Republic’s invasion during a time when he was little more than a frightened child.

Taking back Arkanis and destroying the last traces of his father’s existence sounds tempting indeed.

Crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap, Hux takes in Ren's infuriatingly impressive physique.

"You've come to review the speech?" he wonders aloud.

Instead of answering, Ren inches closer, a marked nonchalance to his steps that immediately alarms Hux.

"Among other things."

Hux raises a brow. His lips are already forming a question when realization dawns on him.

"I see," he purrs, shifting in his chair to allow for a more casual posture, his mouth pulled into an indulgent smile.

Ren's eagerness is charming, Hux supposes. And he's certainly not opposed to a repeat performance of the previous night's activities, if that is truly what Ren has come here for, but his duty to the First Order comes first.

They will have enough time for that particular kind of debauchery once Arkanis is theirs.

Shuffling his feet, Ren comes to stand before him, nudging Hux's crossed legs with one knee. Like a dog desperate for a treat but unsure how to ask for it.

Hux's smile widens and he flutters his lashes in a way he hopes is enticing. Just when Ren bends over to close the distance between them, Hux whirls around and picks one of the drafts up from his desk.

"Read it and tell me what you think."

Hux doesn't need to turn to know that Ren's face has fallen. He does it anyway, throwing a look over his shoulder and taking in Ren's displeased expression. Nevertheless, he takes the offered datapad anyway, albeit with some reluctance.

For reasons not quite clear to himself, Hux finds the sight of Ren reading inexplicably captivating. His eyes move quickly over the text, occasionally moving back and forth when he reads over a sentence a second time.

It's rare to see him so focused and Hux secretly enjoys it, especially considering it’s his work Ren is reviewing with such intensity. Quite frankly, it's what he deserves, what all of his work deserves.

"Your estimation?" he can't help but ask as soon as Ren puts the datapad down.

Silence ensures. Ren pulls his lower lip in between his teeth, worrying the tender flesh until it's bright red.

"You put a lot of emphasis on our blood ties," he finally says, voice almost too low to hear.

_ Our blood ties _ . He can’t even bring himself to say his mother’s name.

"Because this is a family affair, is it not?" Hux asks, rising from his seat to turn and face Ren. "And nobody wants to be caught up in the middle of a family feud of Force-Users. Especially not if that family are the Skywalkers. Arkanis' populace won't risk their peace for Leia Organa."

He pauses and brushes a hand down Ren’s chest, straightening out some invisible creases in the uniform.

"But luckily for us, the Elder Houses don't care what the populace thinks."

Ren’s not completely convinced, not yet. Hux can see it in his rigid posture, can see the doubt in the upward curve of his eyebrow. For now though, he seems content with a truce, placated by Hux’s soothing touch.

"It's a good speech," he concedes, watching with unconcealed fascination as Hux cleans some non-existent dust from his clothes.

"Of course it is," Hux tuts, never one to sell himself short. "But it means nothing if you can't deliver it."

Ren frowns, his pride awakened by those words.

"What makes you think I can't?" he asks, inching closer to crowd Hux against the desk, the sharp edge of it poking into Hux's lower back.

Despite the pain, Hux remains unperturbed.

"Need I remind you that it was me, not you, who addressed the men and women on Starkiller Base," he says, softening the blow to Ren's ego with a featherlight caress down his side. "While you preferred to stay on the  _ Finalizer _ ."

Not to mention his hesitation to face Arkanis’ elites just a few hours ago.

Ren doesn't budge but his expression loses some of its intensity as he grudgingly concedes to Hux's point.

"I can do it," he insists, both eager, it seems, to prove Hux wrong and insulted that he'd have to do it at all, that Hux would still not consider him capable of completing this most basic of tasks.

"Good," Hux purrs, arching his back so that their lower bodies are pressed together.

A shudder runs through Ren at the pleasurable friction this creates and Hux can feel him harden against his thigh.

"I expect you to commit the speech to memory, every single word of it."

He receives a throaty growl in reply and then Ren reaches out, hands resting on either of Hux's sides, caging him in.

"I won't fail. But once I’ve done what you asked of me, I expect to be rewarded handsomely."

Hux can't help the crystalline chuckle escaping him, his long lashes casting faint shadows over his cheeks as he lowers his eyes in a feigned display of demureness.

"Shouldn't the knowledge of the Resistance's imminent demise be reward enough?" he asks, rolling his hips and spreading his legs just wide enough for Ren to slip in between them.

As it turns out, Ren hasn’t overestimated his own capabilities. He's a quick study, impatient, yes, but that much was to be expected. His focus however, once innervated, is razor-sharp.

He commits the speech to memory in less than a standard hour, a timespan so short it leaves Hux grudgingly impressed.

Though it proves difficult to hold on to that grudge when Ren claims his reward and has him in his bed, on his hands and knees, where he eats him out until Hux is a panting mess and the bed sheets are damp with drool and come.

Afterwards, they lie together in a sticky heap, Ren's long limbs sprawled on the mattress and his head resting in Hux's lap. He listens with half an ear as Hux reads from his speech, pausing now and then to give advice on the volume, cadence and intonation he considers ideal.

Ren accepts all of it without complaint, undoubtedly still riding the heights of his climax and enjoying the feeling of Hux running his fingers through the thick mass of his hair.

The caress isn't in direct response to any demands Ren has made. On the contrary, Hux’s fingers have found their way into Ren's hair on their own accord, without any conscious thought from himself. But to pull away now would mean to draw unwanted attention to it, to acknowledge this newfound and unnegotiated intimacy. It won't do.

Hux isn't one to be overly affectionate with his sexual partners, neither during nor after intercourse. Most of them know to leave as soon as the deed is done, too afraid to risk Hux's ire should they fail to be out of his sight in an appropriately quick timespan.

Ren doesn't fear Hux's anger. He doesn't fear Hux at all.

Once, Hux has considered this Ren's greatest flaw, was convinced that it would prove his downfall one day. And on this fateful day, Hux would reclaim the First Order and finally dispose of Ren.

He could do it now, if only he had one of his many knives or his blaster on hand. He could do it if his legs weren't still shaking from the strength of his orgasm and if Ren's large body wasn't pining him to the bed, thus giving him no chance of escape.

Later, Hux tells himself, when the time is right and he has no use for Ren anymore.

"You're thinking of deceit," Ren says, sudden, and Hux's fingers momentarily still before resuming their activity as if nothing has happened.

"We will soon attempt to deceive the whole population of Arkanis with this speech," he says, though the words ring hollow even in his own ears.

Ren turns on his back, the sheets rustling as he does, and looks up at Hux with doubtfilled eyes.

"You used to be a good liar. What changed?"

Hux frowns, his grip on Ren's hair tightening before the pettiness of the gesture dawns on him and he loosens the hold again.

"Read my mind if you're so desperate to know," he says instead, the words still petulant but more befitting a man of his station than pulling on another’s figurative pigtails.

Ren seems to consider this, his gaze roaming over Hux's face as if that’s enough to break his skull open and have all his secrets tumble out between the cracks.

"It's not as simple as you seem to think it is," he says, drawing one hand up to brush along Hux's thigh. "A mind like yours won’t bend easily."

That, at last, catches Hux's attention. Praise from Ren is rare, even more so when directed at him.

He puts his datapad aside and leaves it on the nightstand next to the bed, far away from Ren's sprawled limbs.

"Have you tried?" Hux asks. "Breaking into my mind?"

Ren averts his eyes and pulls his lower lip in between his teeth, sucking on it until his swollen and red.

"I have," he admits after pointedly avoiding Hux's inquiring gaze for a while. "More than once."

To his own surprise, Hux finds himself unbothered by the revelation. He expected as much and is more intrigued than appalled.

"Why?" he asks.

The question seems to catch Ren off-guard and he looks up, momentarily forgetting his own determination to shirk from any and all eye-contact.

He falls silent, his youthful face overtaken by a slew of expressions that change far too quickly for Hux to make sense of them all.

There's confusion, of course, some annoyance as well (though Hux can't tell whether it's directed at him or at Ren himself) and, curiously enough, embarrassment.

"I don't know," Ren says at last, his lips twitching as he struggles to give voice to whichever jumbled emotion is raging in his chest. "Your thoughts have always been loud and of no particular interest to me. There was never any need to try and invade your mind."

Hux’s brows pull together in a frown, his lips pursed, ready to protest, but Ren prevents any interruptions by pressing his face into the soft curve of Hux’s thigh, where he breathes in the scent of sweat and dried come.

"And yet--" he whispers against Hux's skin, making the fine red hairs on his arms stand up.

A short but sharp alarm from his datapad cuts through the air, shattering the fragile peace they had established between them.

Ren growls and lifts his head off Hux's lap, staring accusingly at the innocuous piece of electronic equipment.

Heaving a sigh, Hux makes a grab for it and turns the alarm off.

"What is it now?" Ren grumbles, eyeing the datapad as if it has personally offended him.

Hux doesn't answer immediately, too caught up watching the short video Carise Sindian has sent him over a secure comm-channel.

He can feel Ren shift, his weight moving off his lap as he gets up on his elbows to sneak a glance at the datapad.

Too nosy for his own good, but Hux is in an agreeable mood, with his toes still tingling from the aftermath of his orgasm. He tilts the pad just enough for Ren to be able to watch the footage of a man in a leather jacket stumbling through the ruins of a building half overgrown with moss and foliage.

"A recording my contact on Arkanis sent me," Hux says in way of explanation.

Ren doesn’t deign him with a reply but Hux isn't offended. Together, they watch the rest of the grainy video, the light from the screen reflected in their eyes.

There are no further words needed, they both know where they have seen that particular jacket, plastered with patches and amateurishly mended in places, before.

"Brave of the Resistance to show themselves so openly," Ren ponders, nostrils flaring as he watches the pixelated figure’s pathetic attempts to sneak through the undergrowth.

"Not brave. Foolish," Hux argues and zooms in closer, fingers dancing over the screen. "He must have set off one of the seismic sensors. Those are connected to the security system. As soon as any movement outside normal parameters is detected the cameras in the vicinity start recording. I wasn't aware the system is still functional."

And apparently neither is the Resistance, if they stumble through the woods like this, without a care in the world and subtle as a rancor.

Hux tears his eyes away from the video when he feels his skin prickle. When he turns, he’s met with Ren's curious gaze.

"Use your words, Ren."

"You know this place."

Hux huffs.

"Obviously."

How could he not? He spent hundreds of hours sneaking on the Academy‘s property, getting caught in the process more often than he could count, until he learned how to circumvent the cameras and seismic sensors.

"Arkanis Academy used this technology to ensure that the more rebellious students couldn’t escape their responsibilities. It's a very advanced system. My father was rather proud of it."

Ren doesn't prod any further (even though the urge to do so is reflected in his eyes, which are alight with unsated curiosity) and Hux is grateful for it. He has no desire to recount any more of the childhood memories he has worked so hard to suppress.

There are far more important matters that require their attention and Hux moves to get up from the bed and take a quick shower.

Ren on the other hand, remains firmly seated in bed, mouth set in a thin line.

"It's interesting how quickly your contact was able to procure proof of the Resistance's presence on Arkanis."

Hux swallows a groan. Of all the times for Ren to start developing some critical thinking, he has to do it now.

"Because my contact knew where to look," he explains. "And I had an inkling where their hideout would be based on what I saw in your--your..."

"Force-vision?" Ren supplies and Hux nods.

"Yes, that," he says though he doesn't particularly like to admit it. He still considers the Force an unreliable tool for intel-gathering at best and utter nonsense at worst.

At least this time it has, despite all expectations, proven useful.

"Why the academy?" Ren asks.

Hux’s patience is slowly but surely wearing thin. Standing naked in the middle of his bedroom with come drying on his belly while Ren is interrogating him is not how he has envisioned his morning to go.

"Why not?" he snaps. "It's secluded and has been abandoned for years, they’d be relatively safe there. And with the security system still operational, it's quite possible that the same holds true for the communication channels. Which Organa might very well use to stay in contact with Arkanis’ authorities."

That answer doesn't satisfy Ren.

"My mother is many things but she's no fool,” he grumbles. "Why believe that the security protocols aren't intact anymore if all other systems are still running?"

Hux blinks, surprised. So Ren is capable of logical thought after all.

"Because the seismic sensors and hidden cameras weren't in any of the official records. Just like the beatings and humiliating punishments weren't. Brendol made sure of that,” he explains, momentarily distracted when Ren shifts and the sheets falls away to reveal the trail of dark hair leading down his stomach and between his legs.

"But will that be enough?" Ren presses on, tearing Hux from his indulgent thoughts. "The word of your contact and one fuzzy recording against the council of Arkanis?"

Hux is quick to dispel his doubts.

"Perhaps not, but you're forgetting Frumentar and his spies, as well as your own knights. Who knows what other proof they’ll unearth. But no matter the outcome of their investigations, we don’t have time to sit idly any longer."

Carise has done her part. It's time for Hux to do his.

"Come," he says to Ren, motioning for him to follow as he makes his way to the refresher. "We have an invasion to plan."

 

* * *

 

"I want our entire forces stationed around the planet. Not a single ship, a single frighter or civilian transport shall leave Arkanis without our knowledge."

Hux barks, glancing at Ren from underneath his pale lashes to gauge his reaction. He remains silent, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the holo-table between him.

Despite their lengthy joint shower, Kylo's mood hasn’t improved. He has remained deep in thought, almost maudlin, only voicing his opinion when directly asked.

It's just as well, Hux can do without his interference.

"That would require us to request assistance from Admiral Agrippina," Phasma points out. "The  _ Huntress'  _ own forces are not enough to occupy all of Arkanis, despite the planet’s limited military."

Hux looks at her over the star map laid out before him, where a flickering hologram of Arkanis is spinning in lazy circles.

"I’m certain Admiral Agrippina will pledge her support,” Hux argues. “The last time Supreme Leader Ren demanded her loyalty, she had not made the most favorable of impressions. She’ll be eager to remedy that.”

Not least because the memory of what Ren did to her and the other high-ranking officers during the first meeting of High Command is still lingering in her bones.

"Stationing the First Order's entire fleet in Arkanis' orbit might be taken as a sign of aggression," Sloane interposes. "I was under the impression we wanted to avoid that."

With her many years of experience leading the Empire's remaining forces and building the Order out of its ashes, Hux had thought it reasonable to invite her to this private conversation. Though he's not above admitting that a part of him is still that little, scrawny boy who's craving her approval and that this might have played a role in his decision to have her here as well.

Ren certainly hadn't objected when Hux made the suggestion, eager as he still is to learn more about the woman who had served alongside Darth Vader.

"I'm quite aware of the impression it might make but we'll make sure to demonstrate our willingness to come to a peaceful conclusion by sending an envoy to Akranis, led by Supreme Leader Ren himself."

Sloane perks up, her expression unreadable as her cold eyes size up Ren then Hux.

"Would that be wise? As the leader of the First Order he's a primary target for assassins and suicide commandos."

"Certainly," Hux agrees. "And we’re counting on it. My confederate on Arkanis, Carise Sindian, has already established contact with a Clawdite bounty hunter who will pose as a member of the Resistance and attempt to assassinate Supreme Leader Ren on his diplomatic mission."

Hux pauses to take in and relish the dumbfounded expression forming on his former mentor’s face, a perverse pride overcoming him at having succeeded in rendering her speechless just this once.

"Luckily for us, Supreme Leader Ren is powerful with the Force and will survive the attack."

He pretends not to notice the way Ren's straightens his posture at the underhanded compliment and keeps looking at Sloane instead.

"Thus giving us an excuse to retaliate with force," she concludes, though a note of wariness in her voice remains. Hux chooses to ignore it. Their plan is sound.

"But why go through all the trouble of finding the Resistance when we could have simply employed that Clawdite from the beginning if invasion is our goal?" Phasma asks.

"Because Arkanis is not our primary objective," Ren grumbles.

It's the first time he has spoken since the meeting began and if Phasma were a lesser women, Hux is sure she would have cringed.

"Finding and annihilating the Resistance is," Ren goes on. "Conquering Arkanis is merely a diversion, a reminder for the galaxy that one does not come between the First Order and its prey."

The bitemarks hidden beneath the collar of his uniform tingle at those words and Hux shifts his weight from one foot to the other at the tendril of arousal shooting up his spine. As much as it pains him to admit it, Ren is magnificent.

He swallows down the thick lump in his throat and turns towards Phasma.

"Which is why Supreme Leader Ren and his personal guard will use the ensuing chaos and confusion to slip away and attack the Resistance's hideout."

With a flourish, Hux pulls up another ground plan and adjusts its size and angle until the hologram becomes clear.

"Arkanis Academy. Hardly any defenses to speak of and pretty much derelict. It will be mere child’s play. Meanwhile, another squadron lead by Captain Phasma will occupy the High Council building and take the council’s members hostage, thus incapacitating their government. Anyone who attempts to flee the planet shall be shot down without prior warning."

Hux pauses to take in the faces around him, pleased to see that not even Sloane has found reason to protest so far.

"I was hoping that, as a former Grand Admiral, you'd do me the honor of overseeing our naval forces," he tells her.

He doesn't consider himself a sentimental man, not by a long shot, but he owes her that much and besides, her experience far surpasses his own. He'd be foolish not to utilize it.

Sloane straightens her posture, her serious expression softening impalpably.

"The honor would be mine, Grand Marshal. Though I doubt Admiral Agrippina will be very pleased to have to surrender command of her fleet to me."

Hux waves her off. "It's only temporary and I’ll gladly risk her ire if that means this whole operation is in capable hands."

People he trusts. Few and far between as they are. The words remain unsaid but the implications are there, clear to see for people who know him well. As Rae Sloane does.

She nods and argues no further, accepting the task Hux has lain out with all the grace he has come to expect of her.

"Excellent," he says and throws Ren a sharp smile that is returned with a flicker of lust flaring up in his dark eyes.

"Shall I go on?"


	15. Close Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the _Huntress_ ’ bridge, Hux watches.
> 
> The viewports that usually show the brilliant vastness of space have been reprogrammed to show Ren's arrival on Arkanis instead. He’s cutting an impressive figure, surrounded by his knights and the drones that record every second of his visit and feed the raw material directly to Hux with only minimal delay.
> 
> Ren's face, going in and out of focus when he drones flitter around him, seems taut and his mouth is pressed into a thin line, pale apart from the red spots where Hux has bitten him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry lovelies. I know I forgot to update last week but I attended a convention and was pretty much dead to the world for the week to follow. Thank you so much for being patient with me and thank you also for your many comments! I treasure every single one oft them!
> 
> A big, fat thank you also to [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) for whipping this whole thing into shape.  
> And [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for holding my hand throughout all of this and saving me from more mental breakdowns than I could count.

XIII

 

 

They spend hours discussing the finer details of their attack—annexing a whole planet is not an easy feat—and by the time Ren concludes their meeting and dismisses Phasma and Sloane with a mere nod, Beta shift has already ended.

Hux watches as the two turn—all too aware of the questioning look in Sloane’s eyes as she walks past him—but doesn’t make a move to leave as well. As if per an unspoken agreement, both he and Ren stay behind and as soon as the doors have shut close behind Phasma, Hux turns to meet the smoldering gaze of the other.

"I didn’t fail to notice that you've been remarkably cooperative during the meeting," Hux says, fingers typing away on his datapad without looking at it.

It had been impossible not to notice when Ren's usual contributions to such sittings were disinterested grunts and thinly veiled threats directed at the inferior officers.

For the first time since Hux has known him, Ren made an effort to listen and even give useful suggestions on where and when to attack, offering his expertise on the field to ensure the best offensive strategy.

Hux is genuinely impressed with him and Ren, he knows it.

"Why, Grand Marshal, is that praise I hear?"

Hux scoffs.

"Don't act like you're not enjoying it," he says, throwing Ren a look that he returns with an amused twitch of his lips.

"Perhaps," Ren admits. "But I didn't offer my insight to impress you."

"Well, why then?" Hux asks, somewhat snippy, inexplicably offended at the insinuation that Ren's sudden show of competency wasn't for his sake.

The humor drains from Ren's face until his expression is one of grave seriousness.

"The Resistance has made fools of us before. I won't allow them to do it a again."

"Made a fool of you, you mean," Hux says, still preoccupied with his datapad and only half-aware of what he's saying. "If you had only listened to me--"

He trails off, eyes widening in horror as his own words finally register and he looks at Ren, waiting for the familiar pressure around his neck to materialize.

It never comes.

Ren stands motionless before him, brows drawn together in contemplation.

"Maybe I should have," he says, voice low.

If not for his excellent self-control, Hux might have openly gawked. As it stands, he limits his reaction to aghast staring.

"Please repeat that, Ren," he says once the initial shock of the confession has worn off. "I think I didn't quite catch that."

"You heard me well enough," Ren mumbles, stepping closer until Hux can see the speckles of gold in his dark irises.

"Does it come as such a surprise? That I might value your input?"

Ren's breath is hot on Hux's face and for the briefest of moments he can't resist but lean into it, body swaying as he’s drawn in by Ren's warmth.

"Do you really have to ask?" Hux says, lashes fluttering as he levels his gaze at Ren.

His expression is a curious one. Hux can't recall ever having seen it on him before. Ren appears, for lack of a better word, serene.

The angry curve of his brows has straightened out, his aquiline nose is not scrunched up in a frown for once and the pout usually pulling at his lips is gone entirely.

"No," he admits after some pause. "I guess not."

Hux would like to kiss him, if only to shut him up.

This, whatever it is, feels too much like a confession, like a twisted attempt at an apology Hux neither wants nor needs.

Ren's gaze wavers, his previous composure replaced by uncertainty. But before he can open his mouth to spout any more nonsense, Hux seizes his chance and redirects the conversation to less complicated matters.

"We should discuss our strategy on Arkanis."

Ren blinks, startled by the sudden shift in mood.

"We just did. For several hours," he argues.

"I'm not talking about attack strategies or troop placements,” Hux says, tone verging on impatience.

"Then what are you talking about?"

Hux pauses, allowing himself some time to assess Ren. He has to tread carefully, one wrong word could still shatter the fragile peace they have established between them.

"When the moment comes, will you be able to do what needs to be done?"

Ren's eyes widen and Hux can feel his fingertips brush against his greatcoat, twitching momentarily before he balls his hand into a tight fist.

He doesn't ask for clarification. They both know what, or better, who Hux is talking about.

"I gave the order to leave no survivors on Crait, did I not?" he asks, avoiding Hux's cold gaze.

"Thus leaving all the dirty work to our men," Hux argues. "But when you first had the chance, you couldn't pull the trigger. You couldn’t kill Organa."

If Ren is surprised by Hux knowing about that particular incident then he doesn’t show it but there’s no mistaken that he’s displeased to be reminded of it nonetheless.

"This time, I won’t fail," he grumbles, a note of the old defiance in his voice.

"You better not," Hux agrees and, before he can protest, presses his thumb against Ren's lower lip, pulling until the pink flesh of his gums is revealed.

"You should accompany me," Ren says and Hux's thumb slips away as he speaks.

"And what use would I be there?" Hux muses, already disregarding the idea as nonsense. His place is on the bridge of the _Huntress_ , not on some muddy planet that accidentally happens to be his birthplace.

"You'd be my trusted aide," Ren argues, his hand finding its way around Hux's waist where it settles on the small of his back.

Hux chuckles at the suggestion.

"Trusted aide? More like a cur on a leash, kept close for convenience and in fear of betrayal."

Ren's expression is unreadable as his fingers tighten their hold, digging into Hux’s back, and with a sudden jolt, he finds himself pressed against Ren's broad chest.

"Do I have to fear that? Betrayal?" Ren asks as he leans in, dragging his lips over the shell of Hux's ear.

A good question. And one Hux doesn't know how to answer. Never once has it crossed his mind to leave Ren to his fate during the planned siege of Arkanis. With all the firepower of the First Order's fleet at his disposal he could order an airstrike powerful enough to cover the whole surface of the planet with liquid fire, all while Ren is preoccupied with hunting down the Resistance. Not even a Force-user like him could survive such devastation.

Hux remains silent, speechless for once, his own mind unfamiliarly blank as he stares at the other man.

Ren doesn’t ask a second time.

 

* * *

 

For all his many faults, there’s no denying that Ren has a uniquely captivating aura, a presence that is as terrifying as it is invigorating.

Hux has thought so before and much to his own chagrin, but today, the deep-seated, firmly buried knowledge of Ren's physical excellence proves particularly hard to stifle.

He's stunning, there's no other word for it.

The stiff robes would have weighed too heavily on any other man's shoulders, pulling them down, crippling their posture. On Ren, they only serve to make him appear broader and force him to stand taller, his royal heritage made visible by the expensive Cyrene silk.

They’re the garments of a diplomat, not unlike the robes his mother must have worn in her youth as a member of the Galactic Senate. Hux wonders if Ren is aware of how much he resembles her in this very moment and if yes, how much he must despise it.

The bond between mother and son is a curious concept, albeit a foreign one for Hux. The memories of his own mother are blurred, distorted by the passage of time, so he can only imagine the complexities of Ren's relationship with Organa without ever hoping to be able to truly grasp them.

If Hux were to be presented with the woman who birthed him and were told to end her life right then and there, he likes to believe that he wouldn’t hesitate.

He can't confidently say the same thing for Ren.

Even now, despite Ren's insistence that he's more than ready to do what needs to be done, Hux has reservations.

If all else fails, Kallio and the other knights are with him. Capable fighters on their own and not held back by something as trivial as filial affection. If Ren's conviction proves lacking then one of the knights will have to cut Organa down.

The knights are with Ren now, having arrived on the _Huntress_ merely three standard hours ago. They're to act as Ren's guard--a new and improved praetorian guard--and unlike Ren, they carry their weapons openly on their belts.

All of them wear their masks—Hux has gotten used to the uncanny sight by now—and are orbiting Ren like dying stars around a black hole.

For reasons Hux can't fathom, they refuse to speak and have stayed silent even when Hux insisted on briefing them personally. The low humming sound in the back of his head the only indication that his precise instructions had been understood and accepted.

They'll make an impressive delegation, unlike anything Arkanis has ever seen. Of that, Hux is certain.

A wave of gentle amusement washes over him in soft ripples and when he looks up he's met with the never-changing expression on Ourani's skull mask.

 _Still thinking so loudly_ , she signs.

Hux gives a shrug in response.

Thoughts like the one he just had are hardly worth the effort of hiding them from Force-Users like Ourani, though her amusement is a timely reminder for him to be more careful when it comes to more delicate matters.

 _I wish to speak to your master alone_ , he signs back.

Ourani tilts her head in question but refrains from signing any more and a heartbeat later, all the knights turn towards him.

Force-users and their theatrics, Hux thinks, as they incline their heads first at Kylo then at him before they leave the briefing room, their heavy cloaks rustling behind them.

Ren stays behind, brushing a hand through his carefully coiffed hair, with the other he pulls on the starched, high collar of his shirt.

On any other day, Hux would have found his obvious discomfort amusing, but not today. Too much hinges on Ren's ability to play the part of the distinguished leader of the First Order convincingly for Hux to derive any vicious pleasure from his fidgeting.

"Stop that," he reprimands and reaches out to straighten the long folds draped over Ren's shoulders, his eyes following the long lines of the cascading fabric down Ren’s legs where it fans out in an opulent train.

"Remember," Hux says, "the whole galaxy will have its eyes on you. And we don't want you to be deemed lacking."

Ren tenses beneath his fingers and for an excruciatingly long second Hux fears he has gone too far and has provoked his ire.

"Do you?" Ren says so softly Hux would have thought he imagined it, if not for the expression of uncertainty clouding his face.

"Does it matter?" he shoots back.

"It matters to me."

Hux looks up—perhaps a little too quickly—to meet Ren's gaze. Not for the first time, Hux notices how his eyes are framed by lashes too dark and long to be considered anything but obscene.

"I don't," he finally admits, voice barely above a whisper. "Deem you lacking, that is."

Ren's breath stutters to a halt, muscles tensing under Hux's fingers as his mouth pulls into an almost indiscernible smile.

"Don't look so smug." Hux is quick to scold him. "You haven't done much to prove your competence as the Order's leader just yet."

Instead of arguing, Ren leans over. Close enough that Hux can feel his breath against his lips, the hot air against his skin like a phantom kiss.

"When I return, Arkanis shall be yours," Ren whispers.

"Mine?" Hux asks, incredulously, barely believing his own ears.

"Arkanis will need a new governor once we make the planet ours," Ren explains, voice laced with expectations.

"And you want me to play that part?" Hux huffs, none too pleased. "So that you can discard of me discreetly? Pretend for it to be a great honor that I'm forced to accept or otherwise risk coming across as ungrateful? So that I’m left with nothing else to do but grin and bear it?"

Hux voice grows more agitated with every word, the indignity burning like acid in his throat.

So irritated is he by the mere insinuation that he only notices Kylo's amusement when his rumbling chuckle tears through his incensed tirade and effectively cuts him off mid-sentence.

"I'm not so foolish as to leave you and your ambitions behind on an Outer Rim planet, to scheme and plan unimpeded," Ren says, pausing momentarily before he goes on. "It's meant to be...a token of my appreciation."

Hux finds himself uncharacteristically speechless. He stares at Ren, tearing into him with his gaze as if it could help him to determine whether or not Ren is playing a cruel joke on him.

"Your appreciation?" Hux says, when saying something becomes inevitable.

Ren nods slowly.

How sentimental, Hux thinks, and so utterly like Ren.

He straightens, the fabric of his own dress uniform rustling as he widens his stance, placing his feet firmly on the ground.

“You've offered the scavenger girl the whole known galaxy in exchange for her help. Yet you think you can fob me off with a meager, stinking planet? Don't insult me, Kylo.”

At the mention of his chosen name, Ren's eyes widen, his pupils dilating with the first subtle signs of arousal. And isn't that intriguing?

"What do you want?" Ren asks, hands twitching as if he has to fight the urge to reach out and touch him.

Hux looks at him, takes in his broad chest, his whole body barely able to contain all that strength, all that power. He licks his lips—which doesn't go unnoticed—and pulls his mouth into a razor-sharp smile.

"Everything," he breathes, close enough now to pull Ren's lower lip in between his teeth and feel the corresponding shiver run through him.

He steps back before Ren can deepen the primal kiss and is pleased to see the blush spreading high on Ren's cheeks and over the bridge of his nose.

"You shall have it," Ren growls, mouth swollen where Hux has bitten it.

Giddy delight floods Hux at that promise and unbidden, the memory of his dream comes rushing back to him. The obsidian crown upon his brow, the universe within his grasp.

"Good," Hux purrs. "You better return victoriously then. Or not at all."

 

* * *

 

On the _Huntress_ ’ bridge, Hux watches.

The viewports that usually show the brilliant vastness of space have been reprogrammed to show Ren's arrival on Arkanis instead. He’s cutting an impressive figure, surrounded by his knights and the drones that record every second of his visit and feed the raw material directly to Hux with only minimal delay.

Ren's face, going in and out of focus when he drones flitter around him, seems taut and his mouth is pressed into a thin line, pale apart from the red spots where Hux has bitten him.

It's doubtful he's nervous about the forthcoming battle. War is, after all, what Kylo Ren has been born and bred for. It's the diplomatic charade expected of him that brings the sweat to his brow.

"At least pretend that you're looking forward to this visit," Hux whispers into the mouthpiece of his long-distance comm-set.

To his credit, Ren doesn't even blink.

His own earpiece is expertly hidden beneath his long hair, the microphone disguised as the last button closing the neck-high collar of his uniform shirt.

Hux knows Ren has heard him, can see it in the way his shoulders straighten, albeit barely noticeable, and how he draws himself up to his full height.

Head held high, Ren steps out of the shuttle and onto Arkanisian soil.

The reception is fit for a king, Hux has to give the council that.

The Varangian guard, pride of Arkanis, flanks the shuttle on both sides, forming a lane for Ren and his entourage to step through.

Trained from birth, they stand motionless but Hux can see the slight tremor in their hands when Ren walks past them, down the velvet carpet rolled out before his feet, not deigning the guard a single glance.

Hux briefly adjusts the drones' ocular sensors to examine the massive glass structure above their heads, sheltering them from the constant downpour.

It's real glass, expertly crafted into an elegant arch so that the thick raindrops slide down its sides. The steady downpour makes it difficult to see outside, obstructing the view and leaving the outside world a grey blur. Like an Arkanasian bride peeking out from beneath her veil to catch a glimpse of her future spouse. Hux doesn't remember much of his unfortunate childhood on Arkanis, but he remembers the rain and the clouds and how they would obscure the light of both suns on most days.

Blinking, he forces himself to stay focused and promptly readjusts the drone until Ren and his knights are back in focus. Pointless musings are a luxury he can't afford.

Walking after Ren are Phasma and half of the elite troops Hux had outfitted with cortosis blades, their white armor a stark contrast to the colorful robes of the Arkanasian nobles.

Hux recognizes a few of the sour faces from holovideos, recordings of their public appearances where they spouted the usual New Republic drivel and condemned the old empire. It's obvious they're less than pleased to be forced to host the leader of the First Order on their home planet.

They're looking decidedly less condescending now, faced with the terror that is Kylo Ren's overwhelming presence, and a shiver runs down Hux's spine when the drones come close enough to capture the naked fear reflected in their eyes.

Nonetheless, they greet Ren with all the necessary civility they can muster, going even so far as to incline their heads in an universal gesture of respect.

Hux can only guess if such a display would please Ren. He lets the subsequent chitchat wash over him—fake, all of it—and keeps his eyes on Ren instead.

True to his brooding nature, Ren keeps his replies to a minimum, often resorting to a simple grunt, as little interested in what these men have to say as Hux, but in the rare cases when he speaks, his voice is clear and strong, his words precise and to the point, his speech pattern remarkably refined.

So there’s a spark of sophistication hidden underneath all those layers of surliness.

Hux finds himself involuntarily impressed. It seems that with the right incentive Ren is capable of presenting himself as a man of some distinction, as a more or less functioning human being.

Even so, his effort does little to dispel the constant aura of dread surrounding him.

"Are the drones necessary?" a voice coming from the left asks.

The drone turns, lenses readjusting as its audio sensors pick up on the new and unknown frequency. It takes some time but then Hux finds himself looking into the face of Andron Palaio.

Even though he holds a seat on the Council of Elders, he's actually quite young, a distant relative of the late Empress Leeya and privileged in ways Hux never was.

All eyes—biological and artificial alike—turn to Palaio. He shrinks back immediately, his short-lived courage fading away quickly, his previously proud posture faltering.

"Yes," Ren simply says, his tone making it clear that he wouldn’t tolerate any further protest.

Palaio has enough common sense to not test his rapidly dwindling luck any further and he slinks back behind his more experienced, less daring colleagues.

"We will proceed to the public hearing now."

A little quick perhaps, almost rude not to accept drink and food first, as is custom on Arkanis before any political proceedings, but no one dares to point this obvious faux pas out to Ren.

"We were informed by your second-in-command that you wish to address the public," Nike Phokas, considered old even among the elders, says.

There's doubt in his voice that he can't or doesn't want to hide and immediately, Ren's sole attention is on him.

"And you question my advisor’s instructions on what grounds exactly?" he growls.

Hux is momentarily taken aback.

Advisor. A simple enough word but heavy with meaning and implications.

Ren hardly ever takes the advice Hux grudgingly gives him, let alone acknowledges Hux as a man worthy of his consideration.

To hear him do so now, without hesitation and knowing full well that Hux is listening to every word he's saying, has his breath catch in his throat.

"Grand Marshal?" It's Rae Sloane's voice that pulls him back to reality.

Hux turns his back to the viewports, leaving Ren to his own devices for now, trusting him not to compromise this mission with a sudden, unexpected temper tantrum, and takes in Sloane's wiry figure.

She eyes him with something akin to concern, not quite as soft perhaps, the edges of it still sharp with suspicion.

Hux clears his throat and straightens his posture.

"It seems everything is going according to plan. Is our fleet ready?" he asks.

Sloane is too seasoned a woman not to look right through his admittedly clumsy attempt at redirecting the conversation but she lets it slide. At least for the moment.

No doubt, as soon as Hux has retired to the privacy of his quarters, she will come to demand an explanation for his uncharacteristic slip.

"Our fleet is in position and ready to fire at your command. If necessary we can annihilate all intelligent life on Arkanis in mere minutes."

"Excellent." Hux nods, pleased with the proceedings though somewhat irritated by Sloane's suggestion. "But let us hope it won't come to that."

Admiral Agrippina's fleet has orders to orbit the planet and neutralizing only those attempting to flee. They're merely a reminder of the strength and power the First Order holds.

Perhaps it's somewhat of an overkill but as Starkiller Base has shown, Hux is not a man to do things by half.

Sloane raises a silvery brow and prods further.

"Is that really what we should hope for?"

Hux can feel his lower eyelid twitch, his patience slowly but surely running thin.

There's no doubt that he owes Rae Sloane much in life, maybe even his life itself, but questioning him on his own bridge, in hearing range of the officers present, is appallingly disrespectful.

"What are you implying, Admiral?" he asks, sharply reminding her of her own inferior rank.

She doesn't back down. Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whispers, she continues.

"You have enough proof of the Resistance’s hiding on Arkanis. Deploy your troops and attack their hideout now," she urges.

"I was under the impression that this is what we're doing right now," Hux hisses, brows drawn together in confusion.

"No," Sloane argues. "I understand the occasional need for fanfare and the pretense of politics but this is ridiculous, Armitage. You're indulging the whims of this--this child to get back at his mother and all those he believes have wronged him."

Before Hux can do so much as open his mouth in protest, Sloane goes on.

"Bomb the former academy and kill the remaining Resistance members within. Parade their corpses around in the streets if you must but don't let them get away again because Kylo Ren wants to fulfill his juvenile revenge fantasies."

Hux takes an alarmed look around and is relieved to see that all of his officers are still focused on their work, not a pair of eyes raised to stare at them with clandestine curiosity.

"A private meeting would have been the time to bring up such concerns, Admiral!" he hisses, voice low but sharp.

Sloane remains unimpressed.

"I’m not so foolish as to question Kylo Ren’s command while in the same room with him, Grand Marshal," she says. "Not like you did on Crait."

It’s a low blow but there’s no denying that she has a point. Deep down, in the most rational parts of his mind, Hux knows that she’s right.

Staging an attack on Ren for the sake of allowing him to pursue his mother without repercussions is unnecessarily theatrical and most certainly dangerous. Force-user or not, Ren has been bested before and by the very same people he now hurries to confront.

All carefully cultivated instinct should tell Hux that a direct attack is a much safer way than this elaborately-staged assassination. Why then, can’t he bring himself to accept Sloane’s proposal and simply attack the Resistance directly?

"We agreed that appearing as the aggressor in this conflict was counterproductive to our future operations," he points out.

The argument doesn’t sway Sloane in the slightest.

"And since when does it bother you to be seen as the aggressor?" she asks. "You think Starkiller Base and the destruction of the Hosnian system wasn’t understood as a universal sign of aggression?"

A fair point, though Hux would rather cut off his own tongue than admit as much. He’s Grand Marshal of the First Order, second only to Kylo Ren and accountable to none.

"Different operations require different strategies," he argues.

Sloane crosses her arms in front of her chest, eyes dark with unconcealed disapproval.

"You can keep telling yourself that your elaborate plan is for the sake of the First Order but the fact remains that you’re indulging Kylo Ren with all this."

Hux takes in a hissing breath, mortally offended by the mere implication and then terrified when the truth of her words registers in his quicksilver mind.

He wants to indulge Ren. Wants to give Ren what he desires and hand him Organa on a silver platter, in exchange for the promise of power and a crown on his head.

He wants to please Ren.

Stubbornly swallowing the horror threatening to overcome him at that sudden realization, Hux turns away from Sloane's penetrating gaze, back to the video footage of Ren addressing Arkanis' populace.

He's beautiful, there's no denying it, though no less terrifying for it, his voice booming, commanding unconditional subjugation. It's enough to spark a flame of excitement in Hux's gut and let him forget this newfound weakness for a moment.

The faces in the crowd are equal parts intimidated and awed by Ren's display of power. Hux can't blame them.

He’s a beautiful weapon. Deadly, powerful and all Hux’s. His greatest achievement, greater even than Starkiller Base. It makes his previous, unpleasant realization somewhat easier to bear and, taking a deep breath, Hux forces his tense muscles to relax. He has everything under control. Kylo Ren included. What does it matter if he indulges the foolish boy once in a while? It doesn’t change anything.

"Look at him," Hux demands of Sloane, refusing to meet her eyes, though he can feel her presence still lingering at his side.

"Does he look like a man who’s enjoying himself?"

Sloane shifts on her feet and Hux risks a furtive glance just in time to catch her confused expression.

"Is there anything Kylo Ren truly enjoys?" she asks in return, clearly displeased with Hux's antics.

"Oh, certainly," Hux says, not bothering to hide the fond smile curling the pale corners of his lips when he thinks back to the charming eagerness Ren had displayed in bed the night prior to his departure.

Sloane doesn't deign his obvious teasing with a reply. Hux hasn't expected her to.

"The point I'm making here is: he doesn't enjoy this. Doesn't enjoy any reminder of his senatorial upbringing, detests it, in fact. And yet there he stands regardless, speaking to people he couldn't care less about."

Turning, Hux's cold eyes bore into hers.

"And do you know why he does it? Because he wants to please me. Because I have tamed the beast that is Kylo Ren. Remember that, the next time you think to question me."

Whatever clever reply she might have had on the tip of her tongue, she swallows it down, gracious enough in her defeat not to challenge Hux's authority a second time.

On screen, Ren finishes his speech to a baffled murmur—thunderous applause would have been too much to expect, Hux surmises—and descends down the dais, his long robe trailing behind him.

The masses part easily and the people are careful not to stand too close to Ren or his knights, fearful of what they might be capable of. Nonetheless, Hux can practically see the morbid fascination rolling off them in thick waves.

The first shot comes as a surprise to all but Ren and those aboard the _Huntress_ who are overlooking the smooth proceedings of the operation.

Screams echo through the crowd, slightly distorted by the transitional feedback of the video feed and the nervous atmosphere, ever present since Ren set foot on Arkanis’ grounds, shifts to fear.

Hux cannot see where the Clawdite assassin is hiding but he can hear the cries of 'For the Resistance!' tearing through the general tumult, loud and clear.

Their assassin must have a voice amplifier installed if he can be heard over all this ruckus and Hux makes a mental note to add a generous tip to the alien's salary should this operation prove successful. Such dedication to the craft deserves a reward.

Ren doesn't deign to look at the chaos unfolding around him, seemingly unbothered even by the blaster bolt coming at him with rapid speed.

It takes no more than a careless wave of his hand and the blaster bold freezes, suspended in mid-air and casting an eerie light over Ren's face, making him appear more wraith than man.

Incorrigible show-off, Hux thinks but doesn’t say.

Silence falls, enveloping all those present like a shroud. It's suffocating in its totality and even Hux, from his position on the _Huntress_ ’ bridge, can feel the dread that’s visible in every man's and woman's face, settle heavy in his own bones.

It's the deep breath before the plunge.

Somebody screams and chaos breaks loose once more.

People are running in circles, some lose their footing, stumbling to the ground where they're mercilessly trampled on by others.

More blaster fire cuts through the air, some of the bolts aimed at them, Ren and his knights stop, others miss their mark entirely and hit the hapless civilians. One unfortunate stray destroys one of the droids and the transmission dies a slow, sizzling death until the screen to Hux’s left shows nothing but a black void.

Hux scrunches up his nose.

Losses were to be expected but that doesn't mean he has to approve of the destruction of valuable equipment. Years of having to clean up the aftermath of Ren's infamous temper tantrums have made him rather sensitive to the destruction of First Order property.

Fortunately, the droid remains the only casualty on their side.

The turmoil is over as quickly as it began and Hux is pleased to see that Ren stands unscathed among those less fortunate.

At a first, quick glance Hux spots no more than half a dozen injured civilians, even fewer seem to have been more heavily injured or outright killed.

Predictably, the members of the Elder Houses and the council are unharmed, protected by the Varangian guard.

The only more serious injury sustained by someone seems to have been a blaster wound, taken by one of Phasma's troopers. There’s a sweltering hole burned into the shoulder guard of their armor but their vital signs are stable. They will survive.

The assassin posing as a Resistance member has disappeared entirely, which is unsurprising. Hux had expected nothing else.

All things considered, Hux is inclined to label this mission a success, at least for the moment, and so he allows himself to indulge a little and watch as Ren whirls around to face the elders and council members, eyes burning as he takes in their cowering forms.

Ren is not a good actor, entirely incapable of controlling the emotions displayed on his too-open face—which had Hux worried about during the planning stage of this mission—but it seems he doesn't have to act now, the determination that is burning in his eyes bright and strong and so easily confused with indignation.

"So this is how you repay the First Order’s courtesy? My courtesy?" he growls, hands tightening to fists at his side. "An assassin of the Resistance sent to kill me? While you grant those traitors asylum?"

"Lord Ren," Andron Palaio speaks up, his black curls plastered to his temples, wet with nervous sweat. "I assure you, we have nothing to do with this. We--"

His stammered attempt at an explanation comes to a rather undignified halt, the only sounds leaving his mouth a sickening gurgle as Ren penetrates his feeble mind with the Force and breaks it into a million fragmented pieces.

The Varangian guard surges forward, weapons drawn, ready to defend their master.

The Knights of Ren are faster, forcing the guards on their knees with little more than a wave of their hands, so that there is nothing left for the council to do but watch on in horror as Ren tears their colleague’s mind apart.

"You're hiding Organa and her dirty pack of lowlifes," Ren hisses.

A broken sob tears itself from Palaio’s throat, snot and tears running down his face in thick rivulets as he nods.

"Where?" Ren presses on and Palaio whimpers, his whole body shaking.

Hux turns away from the pathetic display for a moment, eyes seeking out Mitaka's from across the room.

"I want this broadcast throughout the whole galaxy," he orders.

Confident in Mitaka's ability to act out his commands, he turns back to the spectacle playing out on the screen. A pleased smile curls at the corners of his mouth.

Everything is going according to plan and not even Sloane with her many doubts can contest this now. Today will be the day the First Order restores its name and becomes synonymous with power once more.

"Where?!"

Ren's booming voice cuts through Hux's pleasant thoughts of victory and glory, demanding not only information from Palaio but unknowingly also Hux's attention.

It’s not something he’d easily admit (not even to himself), but he has always enjoyed watching Ren utilize his unique powers, so long as they’re not directed at him.

Palaio screams, spitting blood as he blurts out an answer. He must have bitten off his tongue.

"The old academy!" he whimpers, voice high like a child's.

It's all the confirmation they need.

Palaio's limp body falls to the ground, finally free of Ren's clutches, and he curls up on himself, sobbing softly with the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes, all dignity gone, ground to dust by Kylo Ren.

When Nike Phokas hurries to Palaio's side, Ren lets him, indifferent to the man now that he got what he wanted from him. Instead, he turns to Phasma.

"Captain, escort the Elders and the council members to the former palace. They're to be placed under house arrest."

Phasma nods and with a single gestured command, her troopers have surrounded the cowering men. None dare voice any protest, all of them stunned into silence. All but one.

Phokas is too old and has seen too much to still fear death. He steps forward once he has helped Palaio up, leaving him in the capable hands of the Varangian guard.

His eyes are devoid of fear when he faces Ren, his shoulders drawn back and his spine straight despite his advanced age.

"Your mother would be ashamed of what you've become," he says, unflinching even when subjected to Ren’s merciless stare.

So this man knows of Ben Solo, perhaps he has even heard tales of her lost son from Leia Organa herself.

It's a dangerous game the old fool is playing, though Hux can't quite discern what it is he hopes to achieve with such brazenness.

If this is a cheap attempt at appealing to Ren's humanity then Phokas is in for a painful surprise in form of the crackling end of Ren's lightsaber.

Han Solo himself had failed to ignite the light in his son. Phokas will fare little better.

"Remember, Ren," Hux whispers into his earpiece as Ren's hand reaches for the hilt of his lightsaber, hidden underneath the heavy outer layers of his robe, "the whole galaxy is watching."

It's hard to tell through the lens of the surveillance droid but it seems as if Ren halts, probably more placated by Hux's voice than being intimidated by any possible repercussions his actions might entail should he kill a member of this planet's ruling class with millions of witnesses across the systems.

But beggars can't be choosers and as long as Hux's whispered advice bears fruit he's not interested in the reasons why.

Ren straightens up, returns the Phokas’ cold gaze with one of his own, hovering over the man like a mountain.

"Perhaps," Ren says, somewhat wistful. "But then again, she has always been."

He turns away without another word, his knights gathering around him in a tight circle.

On the _Huntress_ , Hux can't help but smile at this rare display of self-restraint.

"Well done," he praises, not caring for who might hear him. "Logging off now. We'll wait for you to establish contact again once you've reached the academy."

He doesn't wait for confirmation before he ends the transmission and steps down the observation deck. Ren can handle himself and Hux has more important things to do than babysit him while he and the knights make their way to the academy.

As per their estimations, it shouldn't take them longer than a standard hour, leaving Hux with enough time to oversee the first peace negotiations with Arkanis' council and evaluate the first reactions of the Outer and Inner Rim systems to the apparent assassination attempt on the First Order's Supreme Leader.

"Admiral Sloane," he calls and is pleased to see her snapping to attention, hands crossed behind her back. "You have the bridge. I'll retire to my chambers for the moment."

"Yes, sir," Sloane says, voice lingering on the last word, her eyes unreadable.

Hux has a suspicion she's not quite over their previous squabble but he has no doubt that she'll leave it behind her sooner or later. Probably sooner if this operation continues to run as smoothly as it did until now.

 

* * *

 

Though he didn’t see the need to watch Ren's every step on the bridge, he can't quite resist to check in on Ren's position once he's back in the privacy of his own quarters where he’s unobserved and thus free to indulge in such sentimentalities.

The tracker is the last remnant of Kylo's knightly robes, not quite unlike a relic from another time. A time that seems so far away now even when Hux knows that it has only been a few months since he was charged with the unpleasant task of retrieving Kylo Ren's near lifeless body from the collapsing Starkiller Base.

Things have changed significantly. If for the better, Hux isn't sure.

His and Ren's relationship has certainly lost some of its tension, at least in some regard. In others it has grown even more intense. The constant though not entirely unpleasant ache pulling at his lower back is testament to that.

The way things have played out is surprising, not at all like Hux had expected or predicted them to. He's not above admitting that much now that he's alone.

Rae Sloane's open disapproval of his methods, however, is somewhat disappointing. And no matter how many years have passed since he was her weak-kneed charge, it seems he'll never be able to shake off the feeling of inadequacy curling in his belly whenever she makes it clear, with only so few words, that he has somehow failed to live up to her high standards.

It's just as well. He has learned to live with it for the most part. Once he has brought this operation to a satisfactory conclusion, the knowledge of having defied all of her expectations will make his victory all the sweeter.

With a deep sigh, he shrugs out of his greatcoat, folding it carefully over the back of his desk chair before he sits down to trace Ren's current whereabouts with the help of the tracker installed in his belt.

It's programmed to send an encrypted transmission directly to his personal datapad. Not even Snoke had access to it. Not that he needed it, claiming to be able to sense Ren's presence from across the universe and see his every thought. Little as that had helped him in the end.

After Hux overcame the initial shock of their Supreme Leader's demise at Ren's hands, it had admittedly been quite entertaining to watch the feeds of his death over and over, before he disposed of them.

Sooner or later, he would have gotten rid of Snoke himself. Ren only happened to unknowingly do all of the dirty work for him when he cut down the Supreme Leader to half his size.

Face illuminated by the red light indicating Ren's position on the digital map on his datapad, Hux finds himself tracing the path of the small dot with a fingertip, smiling faintly.

Ren and his knights are making good progress, his eagerness betrayed by the rapid movement of the red dot underneath Hux's fingertips. If Ren keeps this ridiculous pace up then he'll leave Hux with hardly any time to analyse the incoming data of their conquest before he has to return to the bridge to oversee the attack on the former academy.

His musing are rudely interrupted by the distinctive click of his door unlocking.

"Ah, Admiral," he drawls without looking up from his datapad, "coming to continue that conversation we had on the bridge? I'm sure I already told you how I feel about you overriding the access codes on my control panel."

There's no malice in his voice, merely some understated amusement he knows Rae Sloane can appreciate.

He rises from his seat and turns to meet her with a smile, never one to bear a grudge when it comes to her.

All he sees before pain explodes behind his eyes is a flash of gold and blue. And then, darkness.


	16. Interlude: Maternal Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We need to get off of this planet," Poe grunts, running a hand through his full hair, causing particles of dust and dirt to rain down on his shoulders.
> 
> He brushes them off with a slight frown, momentarily interrupting his pacing.
> 
> "I don't know how the First Order did it but they've somehow managed to get their hands on a professional imposter," he grumbles, cursing under his breath as he rewinds the fragmented recording of Ren’s speech to the people of Arkanis on the positively ancient console in Leia’s provisional quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) for whipping this whole thing into shape.  
> And thank you, [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for holding my hand throughout all of this and saving me from more mental breakdowns than I could count.
> 
> And a huge thank you to all the wonderful people who took the time to write a comment. I love you all!

Interlude — Leia Organa

 

"We need to get off of this planet," Poe grunts, running a hand through his full hair, causing particles of dust and dirt to rain down on his shoulders.  
  
He brushes them off with a slight frown, momentarily interrupting his pacing.   
  
"I don't know how the First Order did it but they've somehow managed to get their hands on a professional imposter," he grumbles, cursing under his breath as he rewinds the fragmented recording of Ren’s speech to the people of Arkanis on the positively ancient console in Leia’s provisional quarters.   
  
Leia sighs, the cut across her forehead throbbing painfully. Their landing on Arkanis hadn't been the smoothest—even though Poe had done his very best to get them to the ground safely—and a few minor injuries couldn't be avoided.   
  
"Poe--"   
  
"The whole kriffing galaxy will now think I tried to assassinate the leader of the First Order on a diplomatic mission!"   
  
She can understand his aggravation, though she doubts it's the possibility that people might believe he tried to kill Kylo Ren that agitates him so. After all, Poe is convinced the whole galaxy would be a better place without Kylo Ren in it. It's only out of consideration for her that he doesn't voice these thoughts as often as he’d have the right to.   
  
No, his anger isn't born out of some misguided indignation or concern for his reputation. It's born out of worry for the people of Arkanis who have risked much by granting them asylum and providing them with a place to stay and gather their strength.   
  
Nike Phokas had even gone so far as to send provisions and a medical droid to treat their injured.   
  
And now the First Order—by impersonating the Resistance's most prominent member and staging an assassination attempt—has made liars out of those remarkable people.   
  
"The Millennium Falcon is operational again, isn't it?" Poe goes on, oblivious to her bleak musings. "I can get us out of here. We'd be long gone by the time they even noticed something was off; leave no traces behind. We were never here. The Order would have to retreat then, wouldn't it? They’re only here because of us."   
  
If only it was that simple, Leia thinks. Nike Phokas has already told her in no uncertain terms not to attract any unnecessary attention, least of all by trying to break through the First Order’s line of circumvallation.   
  
Leia doesn’t want to risk Phokas’ life and the lives of the Arkanisian people by acting against his explicit wishes and by attempting a ludicrous escape plot that's bound to fail in any case. Not after he and his people have done so much for them. It's worrisome enough already that the communicator hidden inside one of her bracelets has gone radio silent, her only link to the outside world gone. Phokas might have already paid the price for aiding an old friend in need and she wouldn’t even know it.   
  
Putting a hand on Poe's arm, she halts his nervous ramblings with just a touch.

"I fear that won't be possible," she says. “And we can hardly hope to slip past the First Order’s barrage while their leader is on Arkanis and hunting us.”  
  
Her voice sounds weary to her own ears. There's little left of the princess or the general; just the voice of an old woman who has seen too much death and despair.   
  
Poe's eyes widen and more dirt falls out of his hair as he shakes his head.   
  
“There must be _something_ we can do. You can't possibly want us to sit here and wait until death comes knocking at our door?"   
  
Leia throws him a look that has him shut his mouth with a resounding click.   
  
"Of course not," she says. "There may be another way. The jungles of Arkanis are deep and impossible to navigate through with speeders. Retreating there would buy us some valuable time."   
  
Though how much, she isn't sure. The jungles can only offer them protection for so long and this time there is no jedi master who would come to their aid at the very last minute, sacrificing themselves to ensure their survival.   
  
The pain of losing Luke is still fresh. It’s an open, festering wound reaching far deeper than a simple cut ever could. It makes her chest ache, makes it difficult to breathe. Worse even, an echo of him still lingers in the Force, a warm and gentle presence close by but always just out of reach.   
  
She swallows down the lump forming in her throat and straightens up, refusing to be seen in such a pitiful state and by those who need her to be strong and unyielding no less.   
  
It’s in vain. The unbecoming surliness that has festered inside her since the Battle of Crait has not gone unnoticed.   
  
Ever since their landing on Arkanis the people around her have been walking on eggshells, speaking only in hushed whispers, as if the slightest noise was enough to break her. Even Poe, with his big mouth and fiery temper, has become more subdued and quicker to give up on an argument. Not too long ago he would have bickered with her for hours, never one to hold back on his opinions.   
  
Leia knows they all mean well but she's tired of being treated like a precious but delicate family heirloom.   
  
Sighing softly, she throws an accusing glance at the two broken pieces of her father's lightsaber that are resting on a wobbly school desk, repurposed by her to be used as a writing table. Even now, with the Kyber crystal broken, she can feel the subtle vibrations radiating from it, feel the slight ripples in the Force they create.

It came when she called for it, Rey told her once, wide-eyed and full of wonder. Like it was meant to be.

It would be a comforting thought if only it hadn’t heeded Kylo Ren's call as well when he used it to kill Snoke. The mysterious leader of the First Order finding his death at the hand of his own apprentice, as has once been the custom of the Sith. The irony of it isn’t lost on Leia.   
  
It was an atrocious act, though befitting the man her son has become, and Rey spoke of it with undisguised disgust.   
  
Apart from the account of Snoke’s death, the young woman spoke little of what had transpired on the _Supremacy_ . Leia can't fault her for it, no matter how much her heart desires to hear news of her son.   
  
The bond between a mother and a child is a curious thing. Even now, after all he has done, after all the lives he has taken, Leia knows she'd welcome him back with open arms if only he did so much as ask. It's her great weakness and shame, to be incapable of truly seeing him as the monster he has become and only as the boy he used to be.   
  
How could she be so presumptuous to hope to one day embrace him once more while the blood of better men was on his hands?   
  
Poe has started talking again, gesturing wildly as he goes through all possible and impossible escape scenarios.   
  
"Poe," she says and something in her voice gives him pause, "Forgive me but I think I'm in dire need of some fresh air. These rooms are suffocating."   
  
She tries for a smile that isn't returned. Instead, Poe looks at her with concern in his eyes, gnawing on his lower lip as if he contemplates whether or not he should offer her his company.   
  
Making the decision for him, she turns to leave before he can say anything else.

 

* * *

 

The academy's halls are eerily silent, the walls too thick to allow any noise to travel far.  
  
She knows that in the other rooms—mainly in the former sleeping quarters and the cafeteria—her people are hard at work, trying their best to establish contact with other systems and appeal to their few remaining allies.   
  
She knows all this and yet she can't seem to stifle the loneliness threatening to consume her whole.   
  
It's a dreary place and though she would never insult Phokas' generosity by voicing these thoughts, she can't help but feel uneasy as she makes her way through the labyrinthine corridors. It makes the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up: the air cold on her skin, feeling like a phantom’s touch. As if the ghosts of the many children who have lived and died here are lingering still, hiding around the corners, just outside her periphery.   
  
The siege of Arkanis was many years ago but its horrors still linger in the grey durasteel walls. Leia has fought too long and too bitterly to remain ignorant to the harsh realities of war. Innocent people die, children die, whole systems die.   
  
Jaded as it sounds, with time she has come to accept the unacceptable. She only wishes the many sacrifices would have been enough to end the fighting and to leave the next generation more than blood and ashes.   
  
The moment Leia sets foot outside the academy and into the forest surrounding it, she catches sight of Rey as she’s standing beneath the silver-leaved trees. She turns around, a smile blossoming on her face as she meets Leia’s heavy gaze. She must have felt her approaching.   
  
It’s good to see her smile again. The fight with Kylo Ren has taken much out of her but she’s nothing if not resilient.

Her hair is pulled up in a pragmatic bun, though a few strands have come loose to curl over her forehead, plastered to her suntanned skin by the steady downpour. The fascination with something as simple as rain has yet to fade, it seems.  
  
Leia is glad for it. A bit of innocent wonder in a world that has grown as harsh and cold as theirs is sorely needed.   
  
She's little surprised to find Finn with her. The former stormtrooper is practically glued to her side these days, unwilling to spend even a second apart after their long separation.   
  
He's a good man with a strong sense of justice, despite his less than ideal upbringings. Some of his past experiences he was so kind as to share with Leia, even more he entrusted Rey with.   
  
Growing up in the First Order meant being subjected to the well-oiled indoctrination machine that made self-righteous killers out of gangly children, barely old enough to know the difference between right and wrong.   
  
And yet, Finn has prevailed. He has grown stronger, maybe even a little wiser and though he’s not without fears and flaws, he can tell good from evil. Most importantly, he's here now and ready to fight for what he believes in.   
  
Which is more than Leia can say for her own son.

Part of it is her fault, she's not above admitting that. There won't be another day in her life where she won't wake up with the question as to why echoing in her head.  
  
Ben was loved, adored by them and their friends alike, celebrated as the heir of Alderaan's royal house. Even when the galaxy found out about Leia's parentage, she, Han and Luke did their utmost to shield Ben from the inevitable backlash.   
  
It wasn't enough.   
  
Shaking her head, she banishes all thoughts of Ben from her mind and walks over to Rey and Finn, every step of hers making a squelching sound in the wet undergrowth.   
  
"General," Finn greets her, snapping to attention.   
  
For reasons unknown to her, he's still nervous in her presence, plagued by a kind of weariness he can't seem to shake off.   
  
She waves at him. "How often do I need to tell you that Leia is just fine?"   
  
He flushes and is quick to apologise but doesn't relax his posture.   
  
"It would be improper," he mumbles under his breath.   
  
A remnant of his stormtrooper past, she suspects. No doubt, the First Order was not as lax with titles as the Resistance and failing to address your superior by their title might have led to painful consequences.   
  
Leia knows of the young general who gave the order to fire Starkiller Base and he doesn’t strike her as the kind of man who'd take even the faintest sign of insubordination lightly.   
  
"If you'd excuse me," Finn says all of the sudden, throwing one last look at Rey before he nods at Leia.   
  
He makes his way back to the academy with wide steps, complaining underneath his breath for the whole short distance.   
  
"He doesn't like the rain," Rey explains when Leia throws her a questioning glance.   
  
"And here I thought he just doesn’t like me," Leia quips, winking at her.   
  
Rey indulges her with a hesitant smile, eyes following after Finn.   
  
"He didn't like the heat on Jakku either," she says. "I think he just isn't used to it, having lived aboard a starship for all of his life." 

"And what about you?" Leia asks.

Rey falls silent, her nose twitching as she carefully contemplates her answer.

"I like the rain," she finally says, though they both know that’s not what Leia meant when she made her inquiry.

The threat that is the First Order is ever present, dangling over their necks like an executioner’s laser axe and Rey knows is at well as Leia does. After a moment of terse silence, Rey drops all pretense.

"He’s on Arkanis?" she whispers, barely audible over the sound of the falling rain.

Leia nods.

There’s not point in denying an obvious truth, unpleasant as it may be. Even if the haven’t had the luck of intercepting parts of a recording from the assassination attempt, Rey would’ve known.

Leia has yet to figure out how Kylo has done it, how he has mended the bond Snoke had established between them after Rey had severed it on Crait.

It took all of their combined willpower to shut him out when he attempted to make a forceful foray into Rey’s mind and they’ve only been partially successful, as they now know. Whatever he saw, it wasn’t enough to betray their location, or so they had hoped.

But Kylo Ren is on Arkanis and Leia has no doubt it’s only a matter of time until he finds their makeshift hideout.

"How did he find out?" Rey asks, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

She’s blaming herself, Leia realizes and—overcome with sudden affection for the girl—reaches out to take her hands into her own. Rey’s skin is wet from the rain but her palms, streaked with creases like the endless dunes of Jakku, are still warm to the touch.

"He’s always been strong with the Force and has only grown more powerful over the years," Leia attempts to console her.

An old woman barely trained in the ways of the Force and a young apprentice who has lost her master before he could teach her much more than how to wield a lightsaber, are no match for Kylo Ren.

It’s nothing short of a miracle that they’ve managed to shut him out at all.

"He may know we’re on Arkanis but our precise whereabouts should still elude him. Phokas won’t betray us, of that I’m certain. He’s a man of honor."

Rey seems little convinced.

"We can’t stay here for much longer," she says.

"No,” Leia agrees. “We can’t. But neither can we leave Arkanis. Not as long as the First Order is on our heels."

"What can we do?"

"I’ve talked to Poe," Leia says after some consideration. "He’s convinced he can break through the First Order’s lines and get us out of here."

"Is that possible?" Rey asks, tone hopeful, her confidence in Poe's piloting abilities endless.

It's not entirely unheard of. After all, hasn't Han done something similarly impossible when he maneuvered them through Imperial lines with a whole squadron of TIE-fighters chasing after them?

And yet Leia doesn’t dare to hope it might work a second time.

Luck has always been their most powerful ally but these days, it seems that it has abandoned them altogether, taking all their hopes and dreams with it.

"It might be," Leia reluctantly allows. "But not without a diversion. The Millenium Falcon is too distinctive a ship that we could hope to simply slip past the First Order's lines and remain unnoticed."

Rey doesn't hesitate.

"I'll do it. I'll distract them."

Leia has expected nothing else. She looks at Rey, at her youthful face, takes in the conviction in her eyes and the determination visible in the tight set of her mouth.

She has come a long way since Leia has first laid eyes on her on D’Qar. Since she has left the heaving dunes of Jakku and the only life she has ever known behind. From the salvaging scavenger desperately longing for a family to the brightest hope of the Resistance.

The Force does work in mysterious ways indeed.

"No," Leia says softly. "Finn and Poe need you. We all need you. It's not you who shall sacrifice herself."

"But Kylo--"

Leia silences her with a raised hand.

"Kylo Ren is my responsibility. I have tried to avoid the unavoidable for far too long already. The truth is, I've been a coward, unwilling to face the man my son has become because I've been terrified of what I might see when I look him in the eyes."

Realization dawns on Rey, her fingers twitching in Leia's hold.

"No," she breathes, terrified. "There must be another way, a better one. The Resistance needs you. The people need you!"

"They do," Leia agrees, smiling faintly. "They need me to do what needs to be done to ensure the Resistance's survival. They need me to do the right thing. It's my duty to make sure the men and women under my command are safe. But without a diversion we're doomed. The First Order's eyes will be on me and only me. If luck is on our side then it will buy you enough time to leave the planet undetected."

Rey shakes her head, her high bun swaying from left to right.

"We won't leave you behind."

"I fear that's not for you to decide, Rey," she says, letting go of her hands.

There are tears in her eyes, running in rivulets down her cheeks when they fall and mingle with the warm rain.

"He will try to kill you," she whispers.

"Perhaps," Leia allows. "And I will let him if that's what needs to be done to keep you all save. Just promise me one thing, Rey."

She shakes her head again, wiping away some raindrops that might as well be tears.

"Take care of the boys, alright? Poe is a little hothead and sometimes he needs someone to give him a well-intended slap on the back of his head. And Finn, he's a good man, but he has seen horrible things, more than he's letting on."

Rey swallows thickly, her expression hardening as she puts aside all her doubts, all her fears, for Leiaï’s sake and for the sake of her friends as she nods in agreement.

It's a heartbreaking, to see this young woman who has suffered so much already, force herself to be strong, to be courageous for the sake of others.

"I will," she promises, lips pressed into a thin, determined line.

"I'm sorry," Leia says, voice heavy with regrets. "You deserved better than this."

Surging forward without warning, Leia finds herself pulled her into a tight embrace. Startled at first, she only returns the hug when warm tears and cold raindrops fall down her neck, runs down her skin, underneath her worn robes.

She doesn't let go again.

If anything, she holds onto Rey tighter, pouring all her affection, all the love and hopes she has for her into this embrace,  until they're both soaked and shivering from the cold.

The communicator around Leia's wrist goes off with a shrill alarm.

They jump apart in surprise and Leia silently curses the unfortunate timing before she turns off the alarm and plays the short message sent to her.

It's Phokas' voice cutting through the sound of the falling rain, harried and heavy with fear.

_He knows. He's coming._

Leia stares down at the communicator around her wrist, the message repeating on an endless loop, the words echoing through the forest like an apocalyptic prophecy.

Neither she nor Rey says a word.

When she has finally regained enough of her senses to turn off the communicator, her fingers are shaking.

"How?" Rey asks, the question little more than a hushed whisper.

Leia shakes her head.

"I don't know."

Phokas would never betray them by revealing their hiding place, not voluntarily at least, but her son is powerful in the Force and she knows that there are ways and means to bend another's mind to your will. She just didn't think he was powerful enough to break a mind like Phokas'.

Another deadly oversight on her part. But not one she can waste valuable time grieving over. Not now.

"We have to go," she urges and turns on her heels, confident that Rey will follow.

 

* * *

 

"What do you mean he knows?" Finn aks, pale as ash.

"Exactly as I said it," Leia sighs, hands clutching her walking cane for support. "Kylo Ren is coming. I’ve received a message from one of my friends here on Arkanis that he's on his way to the academy. How he learned of our location, I do not know but it's vital for our survival that we leave immediately."

The small group consisting of Finn, Poe, Chewie, and the young girl called Rose fall silent, too shocked by the revelation to do much else but stare helplessly at each other, hoping that one among them would speak up and present them with a daring plan to escape their quickly approaching demise.

"Poe, gather our people and get the Millenium Falcon ready. Breaking past the First Order's lines and escaping into hyperspace is our only hope," Leia says at last.

"Wait," Poe immediately argues, "Now you want me to try and fly us out of here? Not that I'm complaining but what has changed in the last 30 minutes that you're suddenly agreeing with my plan?"

"Everything," Leia says, bone-deep exhaustion coloring her words. "I thought we had more time. Time to come up with a proper escape plan, time to gather our strength and contact former allies. But I was wrong. We have to act and we have to act now."

She huffs, pointing a beringed finger at Poe.

"So our plan is that you’ll try your best to get our people off this planet while I'll stay here and hopefully prove a sufficient distraction for Kylo Ren and the First Order."

Poe's eyes widen comically and he almost stumbles over his own two feet as he hurries over to Leia, stepping right into her personal space.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asks, looking as if he's barely resisting the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her.

Leia smiles and brushes a hand over one of the crudely sewed-on patches on his pilot's jacket.

"At times like these, sacrifices must be made," she simply says.

Her pointed serenity only serves to incite Poe further.

"No!" he practically shouts. "We've made enough sacrifices. What about Admiral Holdo? Admiral Ackbar? Weren't those enough? How many more are we supposed to sacrifice? Soon there will be no Resistance left anybody could sacrifice themselves for."

She understands his anger. All his life has been marked by sacrifices: his mother whose ring he wears on a chain around his neck, most of his squadron on Starkiller Base, Admiral Holdo, her loss tinged with regret and guilt over having doubted her until the very end.

But understanding his anger doesn't mean it will sway her decision.

"It's decided, Poe," she says, perhaps sharper than intended, definitely sharper than he'd deserve but this is not the time for him to question her leadership. "There's nothing else we can do."

"There must be another way!"

"There isn't."

"Actually, there might be."

Leia blinks and turns, the heated argument momentarily forgotten as she stares at the young girl standing next to Finn, fidgeting with the hems of her jumper. Leia knows her, knew her sister as well. They were from Hays Minor, twins. Paige and Rose Tico.

Rose’s full cheeks turn a bright red as if she suddenly feels uncomfortable with all the attention resting on her. She was stationed on the Raddus, if Leia remembers correctly, tasked to prevent any deserters from escaping during their battle with the First Order fleet. A competent mechanic but no seasoned military strategist.

"What do you mean?" Poe asks before Leia can do the same.

Rose's gaze flickers back and forth between Poe to Finn, as if she's seeking silent reassurance from the former stormtrooper, before it settles on Leia.

"There are escape-pods here," she says slowly, as if she isn't quite sure that she's allowed to speak. "I found them when searching the Academy for scrap material to repair the Falcon with. They all run on autopilot and their course is set to the Unknown Regions. Most are just piles of junk but a few are still operational."

Escape-pods. It’s almost too good to be true, a stroke of luck so incredible Leia can hardly believe it.

Though it probably shouldn’t surprise her that the academy had such preventive measures in place. And with the autopilot set to the Unknown Regions it can only mean one thing: The academy was part of Emperor Palpatine's Contingency plan.

"And what use would those be?" Poe asks. "The First Order won’t be so stupid as to let a squadron of escape-pods pass through their circumvallation just because they wear the insignia of the Arkanis Academy."

"No," Leia agrees, eyes still on Rose. "But that's not why you brought them up, is it?"

The girl shakes her head, her black bangs bobbing from side to side.

"Like I said, they run on autopilot. I can get them airworthy, with a bit of luck I can even tweak their flying path a little to make sure they’re close enough to show up on the scanners of the First Order's fleet."

"And pull the attention of the First Order away from us and the Millenium Falcon!" Poe adds, his eyes wide with a newfound appreciation for the tiny mechanic.

"That might even work," he laughs and gives Rose a good-natured clap on the back that almost has the girl toppling over. "We get those pods up in the air and as soon as the First Order has caught wind of them and is distracted, I'll get us out of here with the Falcon! We'll be gone before they've blasted the last one of those guys out of the skies."

It's a risky plan and Leia doesn't quite share Poe's enthusiasm, though she wants to, wants to believe that all it takes to escape relatively unscathed is a little diversion. But experience has taught her that it's hardly ever so easy.

"You're forgetting the biometric scanners," she points out.

Immediately, Poe's face falls and he curses colorfully under his breath before he falls silent.

The small spark of hope that had ignited at Rose’s revelation of the escape-pods seems to have died a quick death. Until Finn speaks up.

"They won't use them," he argues.

"What do you mean?" Leia asks and he promptly flushes again.

"Scanning a ship for traces of sentient life is time-consuming and the First Order has a strict fire first, ask questions later policy when it's not a ship of their own or that of an ally. And there's no way they'll think a couple of escape-pods from the academy where we're currently hiding, is a possible ally," he explains.

He says no more after that, his face troubled and shut off, no doubt he's reminiscing about less than pleasant memories of his life in the First Order.

It's painful for him still. All the more reason for Leia to appreciate his courage and the invaluable insight concerning the First Order's machinations he now shares with them so willingly.

Leia lets him be, for the moment, and turns to Rose. She's looking at Finn, worry creasing her brow, until she becomes aware of Leia's eyes on her and straightens up.

"How much time do you and your team need to get these escape-pods operational again?"

Rose scrunches up her nose, her face overtaken by grim determination as she pulls her multitool off her belt and grabs it tightly in one fist.

"As much as you can give me."

 

* * *

 

The rain has stopped.

After days of the constant splish splash echoing in their ears and the smell of wet earth wafting up their noses, the sudden silence is disconcerting.

It's as if time itself has stopped, as if the world itself is holding its breath. It's the deep breath before the plunge and Leia finds herself restless.

She has no doubts about what she needs to do, no second thoughts that plague her mind, and yet she finds her gaze wandering and her ears pricking up whenever a crackle in the undergrowth cuts through the eerie silence.

She can feel it, the suffocating energy that is Kylo Ren, like a roll of thunder vibrating in her chest and the taste of ash and dust on the tip of her tongue and underneath it all a last, dying remnant of her son, a spark of brightness buried deep, almost forgotten.

He's fast approaching and he's not alone. His knights are with him and though no one is as powerful as Kylo himself, they have all been trained in the Force, some even longer than Kylo himself.

If her son decides to make this quick, like tearing a bacta patch off a healed wound, then the Resistance is doomed. Not even Rey, strong as she is, would be able to withstand all seven of the Knights of Ren and Kylo at once.

Leia prays to the dead gods of Alderaan that Kylo won't make it quick, that he'll draw it out and face her alone, with the knights as his silent witnesses.

The earth begins to tremble underneath her feet, groaning as if in pain and when she looks up the world has darkened.

Impenetrable darkness follows Kylo as he approaches, his hair pulled back and neatly combed, his robes long and flowing in the unnatural breeze. There's no weapon clutched in his hand but Leia isn’t so naive as to think he's unarmed, only because he doesn’t wield his lightsaber.

He looks every inch the prince he was born as and Leia can feel the tears burn in her eyes. Her son is beautiful. Regal, strong and most certainly unredeemable.

As expected, his knights are with him, clad in black and moving around him like the never resting sea, their voices in the Force first swelling to a deafening crescendo then suddenly falling to a soft whisper.

They do not attack, not yet, and so Leia steps forward, head held high and her back ramrod straight. But her hands are shaking and she has to curl them into fists to not succumb to the temptation and reach out to the man who used to be her son.

He eyes her with poorly concealed weariness, hands clenching and unclenching as if he too has to fight to keep his reflex to reach out under control. To strangle or to embrace, Leia doesn't know. She prefers not to think about it.

One of the knights steps forward, a hissing sound coming from underneath the polished mask that involuntarily draws Leia's attention.

"Master--" they say but are promptly cut off by a sharp gesture from Kylo.

He doesn't turn around, never takes his eyes off Leia but the knight falls silent nonetheless, slinking back into the shadows that still surround them like a protective veil, saying no more.

"Mother," Kylo finally says, slow and dragging, as if the word is painful on his tongue.

It surprises Leia, to hear him acknowledge their familiar bonds when she knows he would never have done so for Han.

The crack of skin against skin is loud enough to echo through the silence of the woods, strong enough to have her own palm sting with the pain of it.

When she pulls it back, it's already bright red, similar to the mark blooming on Kylo's cheek, barely covered by a few locks of hair that have come loose from the elaborate style.

He doesn't retaliate, doesn't react at all, his face as impassive as if it was a gentle summer breeze caressing his face and not a sharp scolding from his estranged mother in form of a stinging slap.

Surely, he deserves far worse for the countless atrocities he has committed, for the many lives he took without remorse. And yet, Leia immediately feels guilty about it. Never once has she hit her son, always considered physical punishment barbaric and cruel.

Once more she feels like she has failed him.

His empty gaze seems to say much the same. There's no surprise in his dark eyes, no shock. Only simple acceptance of things he long believed to be the truth but were only lies fed to him by Snoke.

"You've grown," she says when the silence between them threatens to stretch on eternally.

It's a ridiculous thing to say, amid all the chaos and all the suffering he has caused, but what else is there to say?

"The Resistance, it will bow to the First Order. _You_ will bow to the First Order," he says, ignoring her words.

"Is that how it's going to be?" she asks, smiling softly despite herself. "Is that what you truly want?"

He's not a born leader. Has never liked the shining world of politics with its stinking underbelly of corruption and greed. Doesn't have the patience for it either and what little they intercepted of his speech before the people of Arkanis surely came from the sinister mind of the First Order's young general and propaganda chief Armitage Hux.

"Does it matter?" Kylo asks, voice sharp with accusation. "Did it matter when you sent me away?"

"We only ever tried to do what’s best for you," Leia tries to defend her decisions from all those years ago.

She knows how empty her words sound, how hollow, and how little they mean in the grand scheme of things, even though she means them with every fiber of her being.

Though she hadn’t known his name at the time, she could already feel Snoke’s lurking presence when Ben was still growing in her womb. Not even born yet but already targeted by powers far greater than her own.

Once upon a time she believed that she could shield her son, could protect him from any harm. Now she has to admit that she had been wrong. A late realization that will change nothing.

"We only ever wanted you to be happy. And you weren't with us. Your powers--"

"Enough," he cuts her off and Leia falls silent.

No explanation, no apology will ever be enough. His resentment runs too deep to ever allow for reconciliation between them. And yet Leia tries. She won't disappoint her son again by giving up on him.

"Surrender. At once."

He makes a step forward, looming over Leia, beautiful and terrifying all at once.

Would he believe her if she told him she loves him still?

Would it matter?

"Kylo..."

It's the first time he's using his chosen name while addressing him directly and it does not fail to have the desired effect.

He halts, his youthful face marred by suspicion.

"Snoke is gone," she tells him. "There's nothing for you in the First Order. Come home."

Kylo doesn't answer. Outwardly, he doesn't react at all but his presence flickers in the Force, a hint of doubt so small, Leia would have missed it if he had been anybody else but her son. There's no doubt about the First Order in his mind. But there's doubt concerning her words.

His thoughts are well-guarded but no matter how many times he denounces her, she's still his mother and there's little he can hide from her.

A vision of copper hair spread out on black sheets flashes through her mind, a stray thought that has escaped the fortified depths of his mind, provoked by Leia's words.

Dread settles in the pit of her stomach.

That particular shade of red is rare in the galaxy, even rarer in the ranks of the First Order. Leia knows of only one individual wearing a crown of such vibrant gold.

She swallows once, twice, then pushes the vivid pictures her imagination conjures to the furthest, deepest corner of her consciousness.

"I see," she says, gazing up into Kylo's eyes, and reaches out to brush two fingers over the scar running down the left side of his face.

Miraculously, he allows it. A last courtesy he affords her for reasons she can't quite fathom.

His lightsaber, pulled from underneath the many layers of his robes ignites with a hiss, its crackling hum like the deep purr of a Loth-cat.

"Farewell, mother," he whispers, eyes wet with unshed tears.

"It's alright," she says, the palm of her hand pressed against his cheek. And if she imagines he's leaning in to the touch then nobody is here to judge her for it.

A sharp noise cuts through the silence and, caught entirely off-guard, Leia lifts her wrist to have a look at her bracelet, the immediate danger entirely forgotten.

The communicator in her armband is dead and unresponsive and, with increasing astonishment, Leia realizes that it's not her comlink blaring in alarm. It's coming from Kylo.

He must be just as perplexed, if his furrowed brows are any indication.

Growling, he reaches beneath his overcoat and a moment later the alarm falls silent.

His presence in the force, weighing heavily on her shoulders, recedes and spreads out in thick tendrils, looking for something far beyond Arkanis and far beyond her.

The confusion on his face shifts to worry, an expression that Leia has seen so often on him as a child she's instantly hit with the urge to take him into her arms and comfort him with gentle kisses and whispered stories.

"Hux..." The name echos in the Force.

Kylo's lightsaber is still singing its destructive song, hissing when it starts to rain again and the thick drops hit the flickering blade. He doesn't raise it to deliver the finishing blow. Simply holds it tight before turning it off completely.

"Master, the Grand Marshal..." one of the knights dares to speak up and Kylo howls, his outcry piercing through Leia and shaking her to the core.

And just like that, Kylo is gone. Leia is alone.

It's raining still, the heavy raindrops indistinguishable from the tears streaming down her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait in between chapters!
> 
> I'm currently rather busy with my KBB project and I fear I bit of more than I could chew. So updates might be somewhat irregular for the next few weeks but fear not, I will definitely finish this fic!
> 
> Thank you for understanding! Please scream at me in the comments, I would love that!


	17. Sudden Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His consciousness returns to him only slowly and once it does Hux is careful not to let his breathing hitch, not to let the heaving and falling of his chest stutter in its rhythm, lest his captor might realize he's awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) for whipping this whole thing into shape.  
> And thank you, [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for holding my hand throughout all of this and saving me from more mental breakdowns than I could count.
> 
> And a huge thank you to all the wonderful people who took the time to write a comment. You're the best!

XIV

 

 

Consciousness returns to him only slowly and once it does Hux is careful not to let his breathing hitch, not to let the heaving and falling of his chest stutter in its rhythm, lest his captor might realize he's awake.

Willing his muscles to relax and his eyes to stay closed, Hux takes in his surroundings with his other, remaining senses.

Apart from an unpleasant throbbing in the back of his head that must be a remnant of his unexpected assault, he seems to be uninjured. A bit chill perhaps though. He can feel that his arms are exposed, as are his shoulders and hands. Somebody must have taken the time to strip him off his great coat, gloves and uniform, leaving him only in his jodhpurs, undershirt and boots.

Naturally, the comforting weight of his blaster is missing as well and so is the cortosis blade that he kept hidden up his sleeve.

Wherever he is, he's not alone. Hux can hear the unmistakable echo of heels clicking on the durasteel floor, can smell the sharp tang of bacta mingling with a note of perfume that's certainly not regulation.

"I'm well aware that you're awake."

The voice is distinctively familiar and far too close for comfort and when Hux opens his eyes he's met with the smiling face of one Catar Ilin.

Hux is sorely tempted to spit at him, undignified as that might be.

Ilin grants him a patronizing smile, as if he has somehow read Hux's mind and approves of his decision not to defile his face.

"I imagine you have questions," he hums, turning his back at Hux, seemingly convinced that his prisoner poses no serious threat whatsoever.

It might even be true, to an extent. Hux feels sluggish, all his body's reactions are delayed, his limbs heavy as if made of lead.

That much he can discern though: He's lying on a cot similar to the ones they keep in the med bay and hasn’t been—much to his surprise—restrained. Ilin must have drugged him while he was unconscious but either he has underestimated Hux’s resistance or miscalculated the drug dosage he has administered. Already, Hux can feel the effects of it vanishing, slowly, admittedly, but surely.

"Just one," Hux spats, words a little slow. "Would you like me to inform your parents of your execution for treason?"

It's a promise, though it's obvious Ilin considers it an empty one.

He throws Hux a glance over his shoulder, his smile widening.

"I assure you, _Grand Marshal_ , I'm as loyal to the First Order as I've ever been. Your loyalty, however, has been pulled into question."

Hux growls at the mere insinuation, his fingers twitching weakly with the urge to curl them around Ilin's neck and squeeze.

"Absolutely preposterous," he hisses.

Ilin is unimpressed by his anger.

"High Command doesn't seem to think so," Ilin says, inspecting a needle filled with a clear fluid, tapping against the glass to get rid of any air bubbles. “You've been labeled a threat to the First Order, your judgement clouded by your unprofessional relationship with the Supreme Leader."

For a moment, Hux fears that all his plans, all his schemes have been made known to Kylo, that he has betrayed himself somehow, has grown too soft and foolishly allowed the man to set him up and finally get rid of him, but something in Ilin's tone gives him pause.

"High Command?" he echoes weakly, the realization hitting him like a freighter.

 _Agrippina_.

Who else would possess the audacity and the resources to stage a mutiny against him?

Impotent anger reverberates in his bones, spreads out and makes his still numb fingertips tingle.

"Are you surprised, Grand Marshal?" Ilin asks, Hux's title rolling off his tongue with the unmistakable inflection of an insult. "Your days have been numbered since the fall of Starkiller Base."

Ilin enjoys the sounds of his own voice. Not that Hux is in any position to judge him for it, but he intends to exploit it for what it's worth, keep the man talking.

"Then why am I still alive?" he asks.

Already, his voice sound much stronger, more controlled. It may not be quite back to its usual biting sharpness yet but it is getting there.

"Why not dispose of me if I pose such a threat?" he pushes further when Ilin doesn't seem inclined to answer any time soon, too preoccupied with his datapad to indulge Hux’s curiosity.

"You're overestimating your own importance," Ilin muses after he has made some notes, his fingers moving in rapid patterns over the sleek screen. "You're not as indispensable as you think you are. Neither are you as dangerous. Merely a marshal without an army. All bark and no bite. Do you truly think that the men and women you recruited from other ships are loyal to you?"

Ilin clicks his tongue in mocking disapproval.

Hux should have known.

Of course, Ren's forceful ascension to the throne of the First Order and his dealings with the members of High Command must have fostered some resentment. As Ren's perceived right-hand man, at least in the eyes of Agrippina and her bootlickers, that resentment has also transferred onto him. Not to speak of the sheer amount of resentment he must have amassed over the years himself.

Hux is all too aware of the intrigues within the First Order. How could he not, with how eagerly he has played these same games not too long ago?

But he has always assumed—wrongfully, as he is now forced to admit—that first Snoke's influence and then later Ren's powers would be an effective enough shield against any possible usurping intentions from High Command.

Ren's demonstration of his mystical powers should have buried all of Agrippina's ambitions. High Command was supposed to if not respect then at least to fear Ren and to be kept in line by that fear.

"You're nothing," Ilin says, patronising in a way that sets Hux's teeth on edge far more than his actual words. "But you're not entirely without use."

Hux can feel his nose twitch in distaste, feels also the peculiar prickle that comes with slowly fading numbness in his toes. Not much longer then.

"Do you think I'd let you or Agrippina use me so easily?" he challenges Ilin. "What is it that you want me to do? Build another weapon? Improve the stormtrooper programme? Create the perfect soldier? You'll get nothing from me."

His passionate little speech has Ilin laughing.

"Oh, they weren't lying when they called you an amusing one," he chuckles, wiping imaginary tears from the corners of his eyes.

He puts the full syringe he has been holding aside, far out of Hux's each, and steps closer, a lock of golden hair coming loose to fall around his chiseled face as he leans over Hux.

"Nobody is interested in your schemes or plans or weapons. Starkiller Base has been a failure, just as the Death Star before it. There's nobody left in the galaxy who has a need for superweapons anymore. They're the fever dreams of the insecure and insane. Your use, Grand Marshal Hux, lies solely in between your legs."

Hux’s fingers, which he has slowly flexed and relaxed while Ilin was too busy looking down at him both in the figurative and the literal sense, freeze mid-motion.

"What?" he hisses, unable to hide the real surprise.

Ilin, misinterpreting his reaction, tuts at him.

"There's no need to act coy. We're well aware of the romantic nature of your relationship with Kylo Ren."

Hux nearly gags. How absolutely and utterly preposterous. Were he not so thoroughly dumbfounded, he would have broken into laughter.

To think that the perceived notion of a romantic relationship between him and Ren of all people would, one day, be the only thing standing between him and a quick, disgraceful death. Oh, the bitter-sweet taste of irony.

He swallows down the bubble of hysterical laughter still lodged in the back of his throat, threatening to spill out between his tightly clenched teeth, and tests the extent of his mobility instead.

By now, enough time has passed so that he can feel his feet again, just as he can feel his legs and arms and the thin blade strapped to the inside of his boot, which Ilin has failed to take from him together with all his other weapons.

Ilin, caught up in his gloating, doesn't notice when Hux shifts ever so slightly, fingers reaching down his side.

"We're not without mercy," Ilin intones, probably intending to sound generous. "Ren will be given a choice. He may hand over the control of the First Order in exchange for his lover's freedom. Or he will die with him, both of them branded traitors to the First Order."

Hux doesn't believe a single word he's saying. He has no doubt that Ilin and also Agrippina truly believe that he and Ren foster deeper feelings for each other—even Rae Sloane has expressed similar sentiments and she of all people should know better than that—but there will be no exchange.

Ren will die, one way or another. Agrippina wouldn't be so foolish as to leave him alive should he indeed hand over control of the First Order. Which is an idea so absurd Hux doesn't entertain it for longer than a heartbeat.

"Answer me this," he demands instead, his fingers brushing the hem of his boot before sliding underneath the stiff leather and curling around the ring pummel of the knife hidden there. "What is in it for you? I made you chief medical officer on the flagship of the First Order. What more did Agrippina offer you that it is worth risking that position?"

Ilin is close enough now that Hux can see the slight dusting of freckles adorning his cheeks, hidden underneath a thin layer of makeup.

"Medical officers don't usually command Star Destroyers, do they?" Ilin whispers, eyes shifting to the pair of silver tags around Hux's neck, engraved with his name and rank.

"Ambition then," Hux says, not at all surprised.

In a way, he can understand Ilin; he has barely any right to judge him for it either. Not when he keeps the yellowed teeth of his father in a velvet-lined box in his bedroom, a gruesome souvenir and reminder of the things he was and still is willing to do to ensure his own advancement.

Nonetheless, Ilin's readiness to sell him out to Agrippina of all people displeases him. Not in small part because he himself has approved of Ilin's appointment to chief medical officer. A grave mistake as he has now been forced to recognize, but not one that can't be fixed.

When Ilin opens his mouth to speak again, Hux pulls the hidden knife from his boot and plunges it into Ilin's guts in one swift movement.

Ilin's face slackens and his mouth falls open in a silent gasp as the realization that he's going to die slowly registers.

Blood gushes out of the wound when Hux yanks the blade up, cutting through skin and flesh and most of Ilin's vital organs. It seeps through Hux’s undershirt, soaks through the fabric and makes it stick to his body.

Gritting his teeth, Hux pulls the knife free and draws it across Ilin's throat with enough force to severe his vocal cords and cut right through his windpipe.

A rattling moan is the last sound from Ilin's mouth before his breath stills and the spark of life in his eyes vanishes.

He topples over, landing on Hux and knocking all air out of him. He's heavier than expected and by the time Hux manages to push the still warm corpse off him with a disgusted grunt. Already, the blood on his clothes and body has mingled with fresh sweat.

His limbs are still tingling with the aftermath of the drug Ilin has administered, so he's careful not to stumble when he stands and steps over the undignified heap on the floor.

Grabbing a towel from the nearby workstation he cleans his knife and hands of the quickly drying blood. A quick search for his clothes and comlink yields no results and he's left with no choice but to frisk Ilin's body for the Order-issued comlink every member is required to wear.

Ilin wears his like a wristband, saving Hux the indignity of having to touch the mutilated corpse any more than absolutely necessary.

"Activate voice recognition: Grand Marshal Armitage Hux. Initiate emergency override."

Nothing happens.

"I repeat," Hux bellows into the comlink's microphone. "Grand Marshal Hux, initiating emergency override."

The comlink stays silent.

Apart from the Supreme Leader himself, Hux has the single highest security clearance on board of the _Huntress_ , allowing him to override the entire system if necessary.

Unless of course, somebody with the needed technical know-how has re-programmed the system to invalidate his emergency override.

Hux curses silently under his breath, damning both Agrippina and Ilin to hells.

Though he's not quite without fault either, having only re-programmed the _Huntress'_ systems superficially after the unfortunate loss of the Finalizer, the encryptions he used nowhere near as sophisticated as the ones he had employed on his beloved flagship.

Another desperate attempt to unlock Ilin's datapad confirms all of Hux's worst fears: He has been stripped off his rank and authorizations; neither the override password nor a biometrical scan of his fingerprint allow him access to something as simple as the ship’s intranet and communication channels.

The useless datapad collides with the far wall with a resounding shatter, the transparisteel of its display exploding into a thousand tiny shards.

The satisfaction that comes with such a senseless act of violence is fleeting at best and soon Hux's frustration to have been locked inside this cell with no way out while Agrippina and her lackeys are taking over his fleet is rising again.

He should be patient, wait until, inevitably, somebody comes looking for Ilin and then kill them to regain his freedom. It's the most reasonable path of action and yet Hux is itching with the inexplicable urge to throw himself against the durasteel doors and pry them open with his bare hands.

There's no time. If Agrippina succeeds in luring Ren back onto the ship then both his and Hux's lives are forfeit. Hux needs a working console to establishing contact with Ren and Phasma, warn them before it's too late and, most importantly, instruct Ren in particular not to do anything rash.

The unmistakable hiss of a pressure lock releasing has the fine hairs on the nape of his nape stand up in alarm.

Hux whirls around, the grip on his knife tightening, and comes face to face with an ashen-faced Mitaka.

 

* * *

 

The relief he that floods him at the sight of such a familiar face doesn't last.

Suspicion quickly replaces any friendly notions and when Mitaka makes a hesitant step forward, Hux doesn't lower his weapon.

"Sir?" Mitaka asks, voice on the verge of breaking as his eyes flicker to the corpse lying at Hux's feet, then up to the bloodsoaked shirt he’s wearing before settling on his face once more. "Did you kill Medical Officer Ilin?"

Hux startles, if only for a second, before he regains his composure.

"Obviously," he says, trying to radiate a confidence he doesn't feel.

Mitaka visibly relaxes, the tension in his shoulders draining away.

"Oh, that's good."

Hux's brows shot up to his hairline.

"Good?" he echoes.

Mitaka nods and steps inside the room, locking the doors behind him with his personal command code. Unlike Hux's own, his is working.

"Good, yes," he says as he turns around. “It means I don't have to do it." He pauses minutely, throwing Hux a shy glance. "I have never enjoyed our combat and shooting exercises and I fear I'm quite rusty."

Hux is certain he's looking like a proper fool, staring openly at the man before him, his face slack with disbelief.

If Mitaka derives any amusement from his bafflement then he has at least the good grace to hide it.

"Explain yourself, captain," Hux orders, indignant.

Mitaka who, for as long as Hux can remember, has never once failed to comply with a direct order, hesitates.

Clicking the heels of his boots together, he folds his arms behind his back and straightens his posture.

"I'm a traitor to the High Command of the First Order, sir."

Hux can do little but keep staring, waiting for an explanation for such an outlandish claim.

"After Lord Ren left for Arkanis, Julia Agrippina and the rest of High Command officially declared him unfit to lead the First Order. He's no longer our leader and you are no longer a Grand Marshal or a member of High Command. We were expected to accept this change in leadership without question. I didn't."

"You didn't," Hux repeats, incredulous.

"I don't think the intimate nature of your relationship with Kylo Ren is inherently detrimental to the First Order's goals," Mitaka explains, the conviction reverberating in his voice growing with every passing second. "On the contrary, a united front is exactly what is needed in these trying times."

Hux very nearly chokes on his own tongue as he scrambles to correct Mitaka.

"There's no intimate relationship, captain."

Mitaka throws him a disbelieving look before he remembers who he's talking to and quickly schools his features into a more neutral expression.

"With all due respect, sir," he says, apparently unwilling to let the topic rest. "I'm neither stupid nor blind."

Silence falls and Mitaka is quick to avert his eyes when Hux fails to react, mouth hanging open though no sounds emerges.

"Anway," Mitaka goes on, "we can't stay here for much longer. We need to move."

He turns away and goes on to unlock the heavy doors, fingers twitching when he punches in the security code.

"I modified the patrol’s schedule for this floor so that your escape will remain unnoticed. At least for a while. But we shouldn't waste any more time," he explains, peeking out into the hallway when the doors part with a soft hiss.

Hux is impressed. More than that, he's touched. Mitaka has always been an exemplary subordinate and particularly eager to please, but Hux had no idea that those qualities extended past the simple desire to please a superior officer and improve one's own chances at a promotion. Never would he have considered the possibility of Mitaka's loyalty running so deep he would risk rank and life to help him.

It’s an unexpected development for sure, though not an unwelcome one. Certainly not one Hux will forget. Should they make it out of this mess alive, he swears to himself, then Mitaka shall be rewarded with a seat on High Command. With Julia Agrippina's recent betrayal, Hux has a feeling that one will become available rather soon.

"Then let us not waste any more," he says as he catches up with Mitaka, careful not to step into the pool of blood collecting around Ilin's corpse.

"There's a shuttle in hangar bay two, waiting for you to board it, sir," Mitaka tells him as they hurry along the blessedly deserted corridor. "The quickest way would be to use the turbolift on this level."

"I'm well aware of the layout of my own ship, captain," Hux tells him as they round another corner.

The rhythm of Mitaka's heels on the floor becomes erratic, even stops entirely for a second, before it resumes at a faster pace to keep up with Hux’s long strides.

"Of course, sir, but the turbolift to the hangar bay is to the right," he points out, a decidedly unhappy expression marring his face.

"Correct," Hux agrees, showing not the slightest indication to alter his path. "But my own chambers lie to the left."

Mitaka has enough common sense not to question him further.

They make their way through the winding bowels of the _Huntress_ in near silence, only interrupted by the rhythmic clicking of their heels on the durasteel floor.

Only upon reaching the more familiar area of the ship where the officers' and Hux's own quarters are located, do they slow down.

Mitaka may have been able to alter the patrol schedules of the common stormtrooper but the high-ranking personnel of the First Order is not subjected to such schedules. It's entirely within the realm of possibilities that they might stumble upon a particularly ambitious officer who wouldn't hesitate to report them to Agrippina in hopes of furthering their own career. They have to treat carefully.

"Sir, please, we run at risk of being discovered," Mitaka begs as they sneak along another hallway. "I'm sure anything you have stored in your quarters can be replaced. We should head to the lifts."

"And we will," Hux tells him without breaking stride. "But first I will retrieve my datapad."

"Your datapad, sir?" Mitaka asks, disbelief coloring every word.

"Yes, captain, my personal datapad. The one connected to the tracking and communication device that I had installed in Supreme Leader Ren's belt buckle and which operates on a frequency independent from the First Order’s channels. That datapad."

Hux can hear Mitaka draw in a sharp breath but doesn't pay his surprise any mind. He's running out of time.

"You want to warn him," Mitaka whispers once he has recovered from the initial shock.

Hux scrunches up his nose. Has the man always been this talkative?

"Indeed," Hux sighs, hoping to quench Mitaka's unsuspected curiosity with such an admission. "Agrippina's plan is to lure Ren into coming here and then kill him. It's unlikely that even Ren and his knights can withstand the condensed power of the First Order. Since I have no other options left, my personal datapad is the only way to contact Ren, send a warning and then agree on a rendezvous point to regroup and devise a plan of attack."

He throws a look over his shoulder, taking in Mitaka's pale face.

"Is that enough of an explanation for you, captain?" he asks.

Mitaka blinks, stupefied or awed—Hux isn't sure what the peculiar expression overtaking his face is supposed to mean—before he nods.

"Y-yes, sir."

They continue without any more interruptions until they reach the doors of Hux's quarters.

Hux isn't surprised when it turns out that his own key code isn't working anymore. That much was to be expected with him being stripped of his rank. Lucky then that he has a newly promoted captain with him.

"Your key code," Hux prompts Mitaka, indicating the control panel with an impatient wave of his hand.

Almost stumbling over his own feet, Mitaka rushes over to the panel, punching in his captain's authorization code with shaking fingers.

Hux holds his breath, gaze firmly fixed on the doors.

"Sir?" Mitaka whispers, voice trembling.

"What is it?"

"The doors, sir. They aren’t locked."

Before Hux can ask what in the hells he means with that, the doors in question open with a soft hiss and staring at them from across the room, sitting on Hux’s ice blue couch with his datapad in hand is Rae Sloane.

She looks up, not a hint of surprise in her eyes or expression, and meets Hux’s wide-eyed gaze without hesitation.

"Good evening, Armitage."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Feel free to scream at me in the comments or on [tumblr](http://staticraining.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/StaticRaining)


	18. Life-changing Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you really surprised, Armitage?" she asks, and he hates how she uses his name, wielding it like a weapon. "You‘ve lost your way. Need I remind you what it is that the First Order wants?"
> 
> There’s condescension in her voice, meant to drive her point home and Hux has to swallow the acidic bile collecting in the back of his throat. 
> 
> "Order in the galaxy," he answers after some time, if somewhat petulant.
> 
> He won’t be lectured on First Order politics, not even by her. The days of his youth, when he was desperate to please the only maternal figure he had ever known, are long gone. 
> 
> "And is this order?" she presses further, eyes firmly fixed on Hux’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait in between these two chapters but this year's Christmas shopping was absolutely insane and I hardly had any time to write. This also means this will be the last chapter for this year! The last two chapters will be uploaded after Christmas and New Year's!
> 
> Thank you, [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) for whipping this whole thing into shape.  
> And thank you, [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for holding my hand throughout all of this and saving me from more mental breakdowns than I could count.
> 
> And a huge thank you to all the wonderful people who took the time to write a comment. You're the best!

XV

 

 

"Good evening, Armitage."

She's calm, much too calm for someone who has just been caught in quarters not her own and by a supposed prisoner no less.

"What is the meaning of this?" Hux hisses.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Mitaka draw in a nervous breath before he points his blaster at Sloane, a shaking finger on the draw.

"Captain, put that blaster down!" Hux snaps at him.

"But, sir," Mitaka argues, unhappy, "she's with Julia Agrippina."

Hux's stares at him, all color draining from his blood-splattered face.

"Don't be ridiculous. Admiral Sloane would never--"

"The boy’s right, Armitage," Sloane interrupts his clumsy fumblings. "At least to an extent."

The world grinds to a halt and time stops, this terrible moment seemingly never-ending. Hux can hear his own blood pounding in his ears, overlapping Sloane's words that keep replaying in his mind like a broken holo-recording.

"What?" he presses out between clenched teeth, hard-pressed to keep his composure.

Sloane leans forward in her seat, resting the datapad that is undoubtedly Hux's—it's a customized model made to his exact specifications; he’d recognize it anywhere—on her crossed legs.

"Are you really surprised, Armitage?" she asks, and he hates how she uses his name, wielding it like a weapon. "You‘ve lost your way. Need I remind you what it is that the First Order wants?"

There’s condescension in her voice, meant to drive her point home and Hux has to swallow the acidic bile collecting in the back of his throat.

"Order in the galaxy," he answers after some time, if somewhat petulant.

He won’t be lectured on First Order politics, not even by her. The days of his youth, when he was desperate to please the only maternal figure he had ever known, are long gone.

"And is this order?" she presses further, eyes firmly fixed on Hux’s face.

Mitaka, poised to shoot her if she so much as moved a finger, doesn’t seem to disturb her any more than the unexpected interruption of her leisure time has.

"Is any of this? Ren is unfit to be a leader and you know it. He can barely keep his band of Force-sensitive misfits together, let alone the First Order."

"But I'm not!" Hux snaps, making Mitaka next to him jump in surprise.

Sloane, on the other hand, remains unimpressed.

"You think you're a leader?" she asks, brows drawn together. "And Kylo Ren? What is he? Your loyal hound? A loveable beast? He can't be tamed, Armitage. He's a liability."

So she hasn’t forgotten his words, spoken so confidently on the _Huntress’_ bridge barely a standard week ago, only to be thrown back into his face when his whole world is crumbling around him now.

"You killed Ilin?" Sloane asks.

The sudden shift in topic comes unexpectedly, leaving Hux disoriented for a heartbeat before he manages to school his face into a more neutral expression.

"I did," he admits, chin raised proudly, daring Sloane to alarm High Command and sell him out to Agrippina.

Instead, he’s offered a thin but fond smile.

"So you haven't forgotten all of your lessons. What a pleasant surprise. Ilin won't be missed and can be easily replaced. You’re a different story altogether."

Hux's eyes narrow to crinkled slits. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Sloane clicks her tongue, effectively conveying disappointment with such a simple gesture.

"Don't be daft, Armitage. Do you really think I'd let Agrippina get rid of the most promising of my students without protest? An engineer and propaganda expert of your caliber?"

She shakes her head.

"No. You will assist us in eliminating the threat that is Kylo Ren. Thus restoring your reputation in the eyes of High Command."

 _And in mine._ The words are left unsaid but Hux can hear them clear enough.

He's being given another chance. And an opportunity to get rid of Kylo Ren once and for all, free himself of the persistent thorn lodged into his side for the last five years.

It would be easy, mere child’s play. Without his mystic powers not even Ren could withstand the armies of the First Order.

How long has he awaited this day? To see Ren battered and broken, lying to his feet and dying with the knowledge that it was Hux who brought forth his demise.

And all he needs to do to see this vision unfold is take Rae Sloane, the woman who has raised him, made him into the man that he is today, up on her most generous offer.

Hux swallows the lump in his throat and steels himself.

"I won't," he says and Sloane’s face falls.

"Armitage!" she snarls, every muscle in her face tightening with the shock.

Hux isn’t so easily deterred. "Kylo Ren is the most powerful Force-user of this generation. You're underestimating his usefulness."

"His usefulness doesn't outweigh the risk his continued existence is posing to the First Order!"

Not too long ago Hux would have rejoiced at hearing such words.

Not too long ago he had expressed similar sentiments with even greater conviction, only to have them be disregarded by Supreme Leader Snoke.

"Armitage," Sloane tries once more, softening her voice to appeal to the young, frightened boy Hux once was and that she used to know so well. "Don't let sentimentality cloud your judgement."

But Hux isn’t that little boy anymore.

"Far from it,” he says with as much confidence as he can muster under these circumstances. “I have never seen clearer. My datapad, admiral? If you please."

"You mean this datapad?" Sloane asks, turning the pad in her hand so that Hux can see the rapidly blinking dot moving over the cracked screen.

"Imagine my surprise," she continues, "when I found this non-regulation datapad under your desk, still unlocked. You must have dropped it when Catar Ilin got the better of you."

Hux grinds his teeth—barely resisting the urge to snap at his former mentor—and says nothing.

It's true that he had checked upon Ren just before Ilin knocked him unconscious. Has he dropped it then? Accidentally shoved it under his desk? Perhaps when Ilin was dragging his unconscious body out of the room?

He must have. Though he can't remember any of it; everything after Ilin's attack a blur.

"You've had a tracker installed in Kylo Ren's belt, so that you’d always know his precise location," Sloane continues and maybe Hux imagines it, but is there a spark of pride in her otherwise level voice? She has always been supportive of his technical endeavors after all.

"A clever move, I must say. And in addition to that, the tracker also allowed you to send or receive a distress signal independent of the First Order's sanctioned communication channels. Was High Command aware of this? I think not."

"Snoke knew," Hux says, tired of being interrogated like a cadet who had been caught stealing ration bars from the ship's cantina. "With Kylo Ren succeeding him there was no need to inform High Command of this particular feature."

"Which doesn't help your case at all," Sloane huffs and shugs the datapad aside. It lands on the ice-blue couch with a soft bounce.

"Can you imagine the amount of time and effort that went into convincing Julia Agrippina that you're not compromised? That you're still a valuable asset to the First Order?"

A terrifying sense of foreboding overcomes Hux. A visceral terror that crawls down his throat and then settles in his chest, making it impossible to breathe.

"Rae," he whispers. "What have you done?"

She eyes him carefully, not prepared for the sudden fragility in his voice it seems, for the desperate edge so different from his usual self-assured cadence.

"I did what I had to do to ensure your survival," she says at last, defiant, clearly not used to having to justify herself in front of anybody, not even Hux.

"I convinced High Command that, to lure Ren in, we'd need you. And I convinced them that, in order to do so, we’d need you alive."

"Rae!" It bursts out of Hux, his usually tightly controlled temper getting the better of him. "Tell me what you've done!"

Her lips press into a harsh line and she stands, pulling herself up to her full, impressive height.

"I sent out a distress signal with your datapad. Ren is on his way to the _Huntress_ , coming for you. And when he arrives, Julia Agrippina and her troops will be waiting for him."

Hux's blood runs cold.

The fool. The absolute and utter fool. How typical of Ren, to run straight into a trap as obvious as this one; acting, once more, without thinking, too damn impulsive for his own good.

He’s coming for him, Sloane has said.

 _For me_ , he almost doesn’t dare to think, the notion making him shake in fear and anger.

"Sir?"

It's Mitaka's feeble voice that breaks him out of his silent panic.

Hux doesn't move and neither does Rae Sloane. She's waiting, he realizes. Waiting for him to choose between her and Kylo Ren.

And has she not raised him? Made him the man he is? Does he not owe it to her to put sentimentalities aside and join her and her effort to bring the First Order back under the control of people like him? Level-headed people with a clear vision of what their future should be? Not an impulsive Force-user with no mind for the intricate games of power and politics that inevitably come with that territory.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

There's no visible surprise, no discernible shift in her expression. Neither disappointment nor anger show in Sloane’s regal face.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Armitage," she says at last, with all the exasperation of a woman powerless to stop a disaster she knows is coming.

Unlike Sloane, Hux is incapable of hiding his surprise. He halts, boot soles screeching on the durasteel, barely believing his ears.

"You won't try and stop me?" he asks.

Sloane shrugs and relaxes back into the sofa cushions, though not without throwing Mitaka, who's still pointing his blaster at her, a scathing look.

"I won't argue with the man holding me at gunpoint," she says, making Mitaka squirm in discomfort.

Hux can't blame him. There aren't many who can withstand Rae Sloane's piercing and, in Mitaka’s case, mercilessly judgmental glare.

"You could always notify Julia Agrippina of our escape," Hux argues, not as easily intimidated as the good captain.

"And face the humiliation of having to explain to her and the entire High Command that I've been cornered by a boy who could barely hold a blaster?" she shoots back, making a face as if the mere idea is utterly revolting to her. "I don't think so."

And Hux can't help but smile, the direness of his situation forgotten, if only for a moment.

"Sir?" Mitaka urges, unable to appreciate Sloane’s dry humor. "What are we going to do now?"

Hux turns to face him, the last traces of his smile already vanishing to be replaced by grim determination.

"We will head to the hangar bay and make sure that Ren doesn't get himself killed, of course. And captain?"

"Yes?"

"Put that blaster away already."

Mitaka scrambles to obey, fingers shaking when he stuffs the blaster back into his holster. It seems he was more nervous than he has led on. Hux raises a brow at him but, deciding to act considerate for once, doesn’t comment on it any further.

Together they take their leave. But just as they’re about to step through the doorframe—finding the hallway still blessedly empty—Sloane's stern voice holds them back.

"Armitage?" she calls and Hux turns, throwing a questioning look over his shoulder.

"You should know that Julia Agrippina initially contacted me not to give you a rap on the knuckles but because she asked me to provide a weapon powerful enough to kill a Force-user of Kylo Ren's caliber. One that could only be obtained on Dromund Kaas.”

"And what kind of weapon would that be?" Hux asks.

"A terentatek."

 

* * *

 

"Grand Marshal? Sir?" Mitaka pants, nearly out of breath, as they make their way through the labyrinthian corridors of the _Huntress_. "What is a terentatek?"

It's hardly the right time for a lesson on the predominantly deadly flora and fauna of Dromund Kaas but Hux can't exactly fault Mitaka for wanting to know what is awaiting them in the hangar bay.

"I'm sure you're familiar with the stories about Grand Admiral Thrawn and his pet ysalamir, a creature with the ability to repel the Force and thus render most Force-powers useless?" he asks.

Mitaka gives him a curt nod.

"A terentatek possesses similar qualities,” he explains. “In addition to being three meters tall and equipped with poisonous claws and teeth strong enough to rip a man in half without much difficulty. It feeds on the blood of Force-sensitives and it’s not picky."

"That--that doesn't sound good, sir."

"It doesn't, does it?" Hux grimly agrees as they hurry along.

It's nothing short of a small miracle when they don’t encounter any more troopers or worse, one of those terribly noisy BB-9E units.

Hux suspects, no, he merely hopes that it's thanks to Rae Sloane that they have remained undiscovered so far, only to discard the idea a heartbeat later.

She might have let them go but she won't betray all her convictions to help a former pupil. After all, she still considers Ren to be a liability, a loose cannon about to go off and Hux has no doubt that, should it come to it, she won't hesitate to kill them both, no matter any feelings of fondness she might have for him.

For now, she has merely given Hux the benefit of the doubt, has decided to sit back and be a neutral observer. She will wait and see who will come out on top, Hux or Agrippina, and then make sure to stand with the glorious victor.

Hux can't fault her for her pragmatism. Sentimentality has never been the strong suit of either of them.

"Sir?” Mitaka interrupts his musing, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Do we have a plan, sir?"

"I'm working on it," he huffs, unwilling to admit that he has no kriffing idea how to proceed from here on.

"May I suggest something then?"

Hux waves at him, prompting him to continue.

"I'm not the only one who thinks that stripping you of rank and title was an ill-advised move. With enough time I could mobilize these men and women and have them stand up against Admiral Agrippina and her troops."

Intrigued, Hux turns to Mitaka and slows his step to allow the smaller man to catch up with him.

"How much time exactly?" he asks, painfully aware of how little they have left of that particular resource.

"Not much," Mitaka is quick to assure him, sensing his doubts. "I could gather at least a hundred men and women in no more than twenty minutes."

Hux curls a brow at him and Mitaka flushes under the scrutinizing gaze.

"There are more people loyal to you and Supreme Leader Ren than you might realize. It’s not just me," he explains.

And Hux? He’s touched.

Of course, the First Order encourages a certain devotion to their cause, carefully cultivates it with a propaganda apparatus the likes not even the Empire had known. But that doesn't breed the kind of loyalty that’s born out of genuine admiration.

Hux didn't know that he _could_ inspire such devotion.

Mitaka has the good grace to spare him any further embarrassment and goes on to outline his plan.

"But even with a hundred troopers we'd need to make sure that the turrets are not manned by Agrippina's people."

Realization dawns on Hux and he looks at Mitaka with a newfound appreciation shining in his eyes. The man continues to surprise him.

The control center in hangar bay can be operated by a single person but there are usually two officers on duty for safety reasons.

"I'll need a blaster," Hux says.

Mitaka nods and, pulling his own blaster free from its holster, hands it over without an ounce of hesitation.

"And this too," he adds and, before Hux can protest, presses an old-fashioned comlink into his open palm.

"I carry its counterpart. It’s an older model so you’ll only be able to contact me," Mitaka explains somewhat apologetically and then, before he can embarrass himself any further, salutes Hux.

"Good luck, sir," he says, though he doesn’t seem all that eager to leave, stalling until Hux can no longer bear it.

  
"Is there something else, captain?" he asks, hands twitching with a nervous energy that he tries to hide by balling them into fists.

An unattractive flush spreads on Mitaka’s cheeks, the red spots not unlike the early symptoms of a Krytos virus’ infection but he doesn’t cave, doesn’t let Hux’s sharp words intimidate him and when he opens his mouth to speak, his gaze is unwavering.

"Do you love him, sir?"

Hux stares at him, aghast, his mouth quite literally hanging open.

Mitaka is quick to continue, using Hux’s bafflement to his advantage.

"Because I think you do and I just wanted you to know that there’s nothing wrong with that–” a small pause–“sir."

* * *

 

They part ways soon after. Mitaka, whose boldness must have caught up with him, turns around and dashes down to the corridor,  heading to the trooper barracks on this level of the ship, before Hux can so much as get a word out.

Love, he thinks, feeling hysteria bubble up in his throat. It’s not love that binds him to Kylo Ren. It’s necessity, plain and simple. After all, what would Ren be without him? Where would he be without Hux’s sound advice, often whispered into his ear after a night of debauchery, when they lie tangled in the sheets with the sweat and come drying on their skin?

Perhaps he has grown somewhat fond of Ren, like one grows fond of a pet. And yes, he may have come to enjoy Ren’s company, occasionally. But love? Surely not. Poor, delusional Mitaka.

Hux shakes his head and heads straight to the control bridge overlooking the hangar bay.

The doors—unlocked, thank the Emperor’s ashes—open with barely a sound and Hux steps inside, blaster already drawn.

The two officers on duty, both rather young and with facial features similar enough to hint at a close kinship, do a surprisingly good job at hiding their surprise when their disgraced Grand Marshal charges into the room, though they're not seasoned enough to pull their own blasters in time.

"Put your blasters down on the floor and slide them over," Hux demands, putting as much authority into his voice as possible.

They obey, probably too terrified of him to consider any other course of action. Hux imagines it also helps that he's covered in blood that’s very obviously not his own.

He takes their blasters and stuffs them into the back of his pants, careful to keep his eyes on the two shell-shocked officers even when he bends down to retrieve the weapons. It's fortunate that the blasters are a more compact model, nowhere near as big as the ones used by the stormtroopers in the field. Though Hux fears that with his pants stuffed like that, he inevitably loses some of his menacing aura.

It doesn't matter. There's always time to mourn the loss of his dignity later, when he has dealt with this unfortunate situation and, of course, if they make it out of this whole mess alive.

When, he reprimands himself. Not if, but when.

"Now officers," Hux tells the two. "A status report if you please. Where is Kylo Ren?"

They look at each other, hesitating despite the blaster aimed at their heads, and Hux is tempted to shoot one of them just to make his point when one, the woman, shows some common sense at last and answers him.

"H-he and his knights are supposed to dock in about five standard minutes, Grand Marshal, sir."

Her voice is somewhat unsteady and her eyes don’t quite meet Hux's but she stands tall, moving in front of her colleague in what she must believe is a subtle maneuver.

Admirable, but Hux has no intentions of killing them if not absolutely necessary. He hasn't missed how she called him by his title, and while it very well might have been just a reflex, Hux doesn't want to discard the idea that there are more people still loyal to him just yet. Had Mitaka not said so, after all?

"Five minutes?" he echoes and the all too familiar sensation of panic settles in his belly, alongside another emotion he cannot quite place, a sensation like a heavy weight threatening to pull him under or like a hand tightening around his frantically beating heart.

The two officers who have, so far, conducted themselves admirably, jump when Hux curses violently under his breath. The man even flushes at some of the obscenities falling from Hux's lips.

Any other day, Hux would have found it amusing but not today. Today, Hux has no time to be considerate of the man's delicate sensibilities, though he makes a mental note to send him and his sister to reconditioning should he survive this whole ordeal. No need for a subordinate to have seen him reduced to such desperation.

With one last, hearty curse, he makes his way over to the large viewports, risking exposure and death to see for himself what Julia Agrippina has in store for Kylo Ren.

The whole bay is filled with troopers, standing in neat, long rows. There are at least a hundred, all of them armed and with their blasters at the ready.

Even more worrisome than the legion of excellently trained stormtroopers is the terentatek Rae Sloane had warned him about. It's a frightening beast, towering over the men like a mountain made of teeth and tusks, its poisonous spikes shining in the artificial light.

Agrippina had the good sense of chaining the durasteel shackles around its fore- and hind legs as well as its powerful neck keep the beast in check, though it's not made any less intimidating by them. It’s held in place by what Hux’s assumes must be some kind of beast master, a masked humanoid armed with an electrostaff that they use to keep the creature under control.

Hux wonders if these things can truly be trained or if Agrippina has simply decided the risk of losing all her troops is preferable to the risk of letting Kylo Ren live.

His expression darkens further he longer he looks down the hangar bay. At last, he turns around, lips pressed so tightly together they appear white.

"Contact Kylo Ren immediately and tell him to not dock at the _Huntress_ ," he demands of the woman who had the courage to speak to him earlier. "He’s to return to Arkanis and await further instructions."

She winces but is quick to move to the control panel when Hux steps back to make space for her. He doesn't lower his blaster as he watches while she punches in a few commands.

"Oh," she breathes, voice so soft Hux would have missed it if not for the widening of her companion's eyes as he looks first at her and then at the many blinking displays of the console.

"Officers?" Hux hisses, not in the mood for their little games.

The woman swallows thickly, her whole body shuddering with the motion. She turns around, careful not to meet Hux’s eyes, clearly struggling for composure.

"He's here," she whispers, face ashen.

Hux almost makes her fall when he rushes forward and pushes her out of the way so that he may see for himself.

And there it is again, that sinking feeling in his stomach, the tight grip of an invisible hand around his heart, squeezing until he fears it’s about to burst.

Before his eyes, and before the eyes of Julia Agrippina and a hundred hostile stormtroopers, Kylo Ren's shuttle descends and lands in the hangar bay.

"Ready the turrets!" Hux bellows the same moment Ren's shuttle touches down on the landing platform.

He would have done it himself if not for the fact that Agrippina has effectively stripped him of all his executive power. If she went so far as to deny him access to the door control panels then Hux doubts his override code will allow him to fire the turrets in the hangar bay.

"I want our entire firepower concentrated on the terentatek!"

The two officers look at him and then at each other, reluctant to obey his command.

"Do I have to shoot one of you first?" he hisses, slamming his hand down on the control panel in front of him.

That, at last, snaps them out of their stupor and they scramble to do as they've been told.

Good, Hux's thinks as he turns back to the viewports.

In the short time it took Hux to call his officers to order (though they're technically not _his_ officers anymore) all hells have broken loose. The neat rows of First Order stormtroopers have scattered apart, morphing into a black and white mass, closing in on Ren and his knights like the angry waters of the Arkanisian oceans at high tide.

"What’s taking you so long?" Hux snaps at the officers, frustrated and enraged by his own impuissance.

"Apologies, sir," the female officer says. "We're working as fast as we can."

And indeed, the last word has barely made it past his lips when the two turrets come to life with a whirring noise and heavy fire rains down on the chained terentatek.

The beast uttering a cry so loud Hux can feel the vibrations of it through the transparisteel windows. It's not so much an outcry of pain—as Hux had hoped—but one of annoyance. The beast throws its head from one side to the other, shaking off the heavy turret fire as if it were nothing but a particularly annoying fly.

Where are Mitaka and his promised troops?

As skilled a fighter as Ren is, even he can not hold out long against the combined forces of the First Order's soldiers and a mystical, Force-suppressing monster.

It's hard to discern from his vantage point but it seems to Hux that Ren and his knights have already realized that their Force-powers won't work, dampened by the increasingly agitated terentatek.

At least he still has his lightsaber, which he wields with as much expertise as with sheer, instinctual rage.

That is, until a group of stormtroopers approaches, carrying weapons that Hux is all too familiar with: cortosis weapons. The very same weapons Hux has had commissioned from Pollius Felix. A precaution and a secret trump card against Ren back when he still believed he would need it. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Unlike the conductor vanes of the Z6 batons some of the stormtroopers are equipped with and which can withstand the pure concentrated energy of a plasma blade, cortosis weapons short out the energy beam of a lightsaber and, for a few precious minutes, reduce it to a harmless stick, as deadly as the twigs the cadets in the Academy have fought with during their rare breaks.

Hux—dangerously close to succumbing to the urge to break the transparisteel with his bare hands in a temper tantrum that would have made Ren proud—freezes when the doors to the control center slide open and two troopers storm inside. They’re part of a special unit, recognizable by their betablast ballistic shields as well as their batons and special issued blaster rifles. Riot control, Hux thinks grimly.

Kriffing hells, he should have expected as much. Sooner or later someone must have noticed Ilin's body. Not to mention that he has just forced two First Order officers to fire at a creature supposed to have been brought in by Rae Sloane herself to be used as a weapon.

If only he had more time. Mitaka has said he needed no more than twenty standard minutes, surely those must be long over.

He growls, a sound so animalistic it has the shy officer working on the console cower in fear.

Hux straightens up, lifts his blaster and waits. Whatever might happen, he won't die here today, not without a proper fight.

The troopers make no move to kill him.

"Sir," one of them says. "Captain Mitaka has sent us to protect you."

He pauses suddenly—as if the absurdity of the situation has only caught up with him now—and takes in Hux’s disheveled appearance and the two terrified officers with him.

He tilts his head, the tight grip on his blaster relaxing. "But it seems you have everything under control, Grand Marshal."

Far from it, Hux thinks. But he's not going to correct the man.

"Where's the captain?" he asks instead, pushing back a stray lock of hair that has come loose amidst all the chaos.

"Down in the hangar bay, sir."

His strength doesn't lie in open combat, Hux knows that. A covert operation, a simple assassination, sure, but not the inherent chaos of the battlefield, with the scream of the dying ringing in his ears and the smell of burning flesh permeating the air.

It would be much more reasonable to direct the few troops left to him out of the relative safety of the control bridge overlooking the hangar bay. To simply leave Ren to deal with the with the mess he himself has created.

Has Hux not warned him to never underestimate High Command, after all? And to never insult their oh so fragile ego?

A furtive glance reveals that Ren is doing admirably, despite being tragically outnumbered and deprived of his powers and superior weapon. Already, the bodies of dead stormtroopers are piling up at his feet, their blood dripping from the vibroblade Ren has wrestled from one of his opponents.

But even Kylo Ren, heir apparent to Darth Vader, must tire sooner or later. Wave after wave of attackers descend upon him and his knights, seemingly never-ending. Just a single moment of carelessness could cost him his life.

"I’ll go down," Hux announces, determination shining in his eyes.

The two troopers seem doubtful, their hesitation near palpable despite their helmets that make it impossible to discern any facial expressions.

"But, sir," one of them dares to argue, the same one who had spoken before. "We have orders to protect you and keep you out of harm’s way."

Hux levels him with a scathing glare. "Well, then you better make sure not to lose sight of me."

"Sir?"

Hux ignores him and redirects his attention to the trooper's partner instead.

"You there, stay and make sure that the two officers here do their job and keep firing at that ugly beast. And you--"

He points a threatening finger at the first stormtrooper.

"Make sure to keep up."

He's out of the door before anyone gets a chance to protest and before his own common sense has a chance to catch up with him.

If Hux had taken the time to reflect on his actions, no doubt he would have come to the conclusion that he’s acting rash, impulsive, downright foolish even.

After all, what help could he offer Ren?

But he's not acting rationally and soon he finds himself in the middle of the battlefield.

There's no sure way to differentiate between Agrippina's men and the few loyal troopers Mitaka has gathered and it puts Hux at a considerable disadvantage. He wouldn't risk killing one of the few loyal to him by firing blindly into the crowd—they’re already helplessly outnumbered as it is— and so he's left with no other option but to wait until he gets attacked first.

More than once, he nearly gets shot by an enemy. If not for the trooper protecting him, deflecting blaster fire with his shield, Hux is sure he would have been dead already. Whatever can be said about him, he's taking his task to protect Hux seriously.

He can see of neither Mitaka nor Agrippina but Ren is easy enough to spot. Taller than most, tearing through the waves of attackers with a rageful outcry, it's hard to miss him.

"Trooper," Hux snaps at the man whose ID tag he still hasn't bothered to check. "Cover me!"

"Sir, I don't think that's a good idea..."

His voice is barely audible over the clamor of the ongoing battle, his concerns easy to miss, and so Hux opts to act like he hasn't heard him at all when he starts to make his way through the frontlines and towards Ren.

It's a terrible idea. Of course it is, but Hux can't bring himself to care.

Every fiber of his being, every cell calls out to Ren, yearns to be reunited, an irresistible pull that forces him closer to Ren, makes his body move without his conscious decision to do so.

Mindlessly, he cuts his way through his opponents, inching ever closer towards Ren. Soon enough, the blade of the daggers Ren has gifted him are dripping with blood.

It might have been no more than a heartbeat but when he finally manages to break through the enemy lines and lays eyes on Ren, it feels like a lifetime has passed.

Like this, surrounded by the consequences of their own arrogance and ignorance, surrounded by the rotten fruit of their own carelessness, Hux can only think about how beautiful Ren is; his hair an unruly mess, sticky with blood; his brown eyes wild; his posture that of a cornered animal.

When he catches sight of Hux the fire in his eyes doesn't diminish, nor can Hux detect any signs of relief, neither in his expression nor in his posture. Instead, a glimmer of pride hardens his gaze. Ignoring the ongoing battle around him, he steps forward, closing the distance between them in three long strides.

Hux half fears he will be so foolish as to try and kiss him but instead, Ren comes to a halt right before him, so close Hux could count the many freckles adorning his face if he wished so. He tries not to think too hard about why Ren's rare demonstration of tact disappoints rather than pleases him.

"Hux," Ren whispers, and Hux tries not to shiver at the way his name rolls from those obscene lips. "They said you're a traitor and now a prisoner of the First Order."

"And I take it they offered you my freedom in exchange for the title of Supreme Leader?" Hux asks, one eyebrow raised in a graceful arch.

Ren lowers his gaze, lashes fluttering.

"They did," he admits, somewhat sheepish. "I...declined."

And Hux can't help but snort, amused despite himself.

"Did you now? I wouldn't have guessed, what with all the corpses."

Ren gifts him a thin smile that Hux returns.

"Gross!" Terpo’s voice rings out, shattering the tender moment between them and Hux whips around to see them slitting a struggling trooper's throat.

They discard of the body with a swift kick and huff at the two of them, disapproval written in every line of their pale face.

"Stop flirting, start fighting. This battle isn’t over yet."

The other knights aren't as open about their disapproval but Hux can feel Ourani's amused presence brushing along the edges of his mind and Melpomene’s questioning gaze hot at the back of his neck.

As much as Hux would have liked to argue with Terpo’s estimation, he finds he can't. This is not the time for sentimentalities, after all. Should they, against all odds, survive this debacle, then they'll have more than enough time to gaze into each other's eyes longingly, if they wished to.

Now they'll fight.

Hux gives Ren a curt nod, eyes glowing with determination as he grips the handles of his knives just a little tighter.

Ren doesn’t says any more, keeping all reservations he might have about Hux and his battle prowess wisely to  himself.

Hux is well-aware of his own physical shortcomings, there’s no need to point them out, and he's grateful for Kylo refraining from doing so. Either they'll win this war or they'll go down in a glorious blaze, making it rain fire and blood.

"Thank you," Hux whispers, gaze fixed on Ren's forehead. The words feel foreign on his tongue, even more so then said with such raw honesty and conviction.

Ren, eyes burning with a golden fire, inclines his head and opens his mouth—perhaps to return the sentiment—when a rumbling roar makes the very ground shake underneath their feet.

Ears ringing, Hux whips around and is met with the terrifying sight of the terentatek breaking free from its chains.

The beastmaster is the first to fall victim to its poisonous claws, their electrostaff useless as it’s batted away with a careless wave. And then the sickening sound of bones being ground to dust in between those powerful jaws can be heard even over the noise of the ongoing battle and the never ceasing turret fire.

Little damage as it does. The hideous monster is barely wounded, no more than a few scratches cutting through the thick skin.

Already, it has broken the chain pulled tight around its neck and the sorry remains fall to the ground with some clatter, just as easily discarded as the lifeless body of the beastmaster. Or what's left of it: a pair of legs, still attached to the mangled lower body of the unfortunate handler.

"Kriffing hells," Hux can hear Melpomene grumble, a sentiment he certainly shares.

It doesn't help that, in addition to the terentatek now running loose in the hangar bay, the cortosis guard is still closing in on them and targeting primarily Ren in an ill-concealed attempt to overwhelm him through sheer numbers.

"Forget the terentatek for!" Hux shouts, clear voice cutting through the chaos and leaving no room for arguments. "The gun fire from the turrets is keeping it busy for now!"

He may be no fighter or mystical warrior but he's still a Grand Marshal of the First Order, a strategist with no equal.

"Kill the cortosis guard!" he orders the knights. "Their weapons are made from a material disrupting the energy beam of kyber-powered weapons."

The Knights and, surprisingly enough, Ren himself do not need to be told twice.

They obey without questions, attacking the troopers carrying the distinctive cortosis blades with such ferocity, Hux doubts they would have needed their Force-powers at all, even if they had been at their disposal.

He doesn't stand idly by either, cutting down the few who make it past Ren.

Ren, who has taken his place by Hux's side.

Never have they made any promises to each other. Never has Ren sworn to protect Hux. With good reason: Hux would have scoffed at the mere idea; insulted had Ren done so much as insinuated that he was in any need of protection.

No. Ren has learned to be more subtle. Instead of outright demanding, he now knows how to silently insert himself into Hux's space and to stay there as if it was his birth given right. Their shoulders are brushing when Ren plunges his stolen blade into an enemy's heart.

Felling trooper after trooper, the stench of blood clogging their noses, it's easy to lose all sense of time.

When the last of their opponents falls, Hux's hands are shaking with how tightly he's grabbing his knives.

"Your lightsaber," he urges Ren once he's caught his breath. "Use it!"

The weapon comes alive with a crackling hiss, the red light throwing dancing shadows across Ren's face.

Magnificent, Hux thinks, and promptly turns away, fearful that his appreciation might be all too obviously written on his face.

"You both are,"  a voice next to him rings out , a teasing lilt to it that has Hux pursing his lips.

He turns and throws Kallio—who's fighting off a trooper double her size with admirable ease—a petulant glare, knowing for certain that she's laughing underneath that mask of hers.

"I'm not susceptible to flattery," he tells her brusquely but only earns himself another dry laugh, the sound amplified by the vocoder in Kallio’s helmet.

"We both know that's a lie, don't we?"

Hux would have snapped back at her, sharp retort already resting on his tongue, when his throat seizes up and his eyes go wide.

Something is wrong.

It takes him a split second to realize what it is that has him so agitated: He can't hear the fire of the turret guns anymore.

Overheated, the rational part of his mind helpfully provides, while another, more primal part, is overcome with fear.

Without the turrets to keep the terentatek at bay, to keep it sufficiently distracted, the beast is quick to find itself a new mark.

Its round, bottomless eyes scan the room and its nostrils flare as it sniffs the air, searching for that unmistakable scent of power common to all Force-users.

Then its gaze finds Ren.

No, Hux thinks when the massive body of the creature moves, the muscles rippling underneath the leather-thick skin as it charges at them.

No, he thinks when he steps in between Ren and the approaching terentatek, body moving on its own accord.

No, he thinks when pain explodes behind his closed lids and he's flung across the room, every fiber in his body aching as he topples to the ground.

His vision turns red with blood, the skin surrounding his left eye feeling like it has been set on fire. Growling, he wipes it clean as best he can and then pulls the archaic communicator from his pocket, smearing it with blood, and lifts it to his mouth with a shaking hand.

"Captain Mitaka,” he says, forcing himself not to let desperation seep into his voice. “All firepower on that terentatek!”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, doesn’t even know for certain if his command has gone through—the old communicator models aren’t the most reliable—but there’s no time to dwell on it.

As much as he loathes it, there’s nothing he can do but hope that his message has reached Mitaka.        

He gets up on wobbly feet, almost stumbling again when a blaster bold shoots straight past his ear and the concentrated heat of it burns the tips of his dishevelled hair.

He runs. Runs without thinking towards the terentatek, his only weapon the knives Ren has gifted him all this time ago.

The terentatek hasn't caught sight of him yet or, perhaps, it simply doesn't consider Hux a threat, too caught up in the mesmerising sight of Ren's lightsaber as he swings it at the beast.

The blade sinks into the terentatek's flesh with such ease, Hux almost loses his grip on the heft in surprise. The shrill sound of the beast's outcry echoes through the hangar bay and for one, precious moment, it lets up on Ren.

Hux widens his stand, firmly holding his ground, and with one, forceful yank he pulls the blade free. Black blood spills from the wound, pooling around Hux's feet and the sight of it fills him with grim satisfaction.

It's a short-lived pleasure. The terentatek turns, its beadlike eyes searching for whoever had dared to wound it like this.

Hux stumbles backwards, every instinct of his calling out to him to flee, to run, to hide.

Out of the corner of his single, functional eye he can see a flash of red and then the smell of burned flesh is filling his nose.

Hux gasps, all pretense at control long forgone, and lifts his gaze, meeting Ren's own. His eyes are flecked with gold, burning bright with unconcealed fury.

Hux reaches out for him when the sound of blaster fire cuts through the turmoil and, instantly, Ren's expression changes. He sucks in a sharp breath of air and looks down at his side, where the fabric of his robes darkens with blood.

It's the same spot where the Wookie's bowcaster had hit him, Hux's realizes, remembering the feeling of the gnarly scars underneath his fingers where he had idly traced their shape during the aftermath of one of their carnal encounters.

When Ren looks up again, his and Hux's eyes meet briefly before he whirls around and brings his saber down on the terentatek in a powerful arc.

He misses, his movements slowed due to the wound he has sustained, and the terentatek seizes its chance.

Bile rises in Hux's throat at the sickening sound of teeth tearing through flesh and bone.

When Ren screams, his agony is so overpowering that even Hux, Force-null that he is, can feel it ripple through him and a weaker echo of Ren's own pain that settles in his spine like a dull ache. Ren hits the ground with a dull thud, a pool of blood quickly forming around him. Hux is by his side in an instant, dropping down to his knees to frantically check on him.

"Ren," he hisses, clinging to the familiar feeling of anger and refusing to let dread and terror overwhelm him. "You fool!"

Ren doesn't answer.

He's badly wounded and Hux cringes as he pulls away the torn edges of his robes. There's nothing but a bloody stump where his arm used to be attached to his shoulder.

Hux is no field medic but he's received basic medical training like every other cadet of the First Order. Using his knife, he cuts a piece of fabric out of Ren's flowing cape and presses it firmly against the oozing wound. It has Ren screaming, his whole body thrashing on the ground. Hux doesn't budge.

He grits his teeth instead, grinding them together until they throb, and presses down harder, putting his whole weight into it until Ren ceases his struggle.

"Brainless nerf-herder," he scolds and slaps Ren across his face when his eyes threaten to flutter close. It leaves him with a bright-red mark on his cheek.

"Stay awake," Hux orders, even though he can feel his own eyelids grow unnaturally heavy.

"You must stay awake," he repeats, unsure if he's talking to himself or to Ren. "And where the kriffing hells is Mitaka?!"

A relief he'd never openly acknowledge washes over Hux when Ren's disjoined gaze finds him and recognition flashes in his eyes.

"Such a potty mouth," he rasps, voice distorted by the pain. "What if your soldiers heard you talking like that, Grand Marshal?"

"Oh shut it, Kylo," Hux snaps back, not in the mood for Ren’s cheap barbs.

He's feeling dizzy and can barely make out the contours of Ren's face anymore, his vision deteriorating by the second.

"Terentatek claws are venomous," he hears himself mutter. He's told Mitaka so. How could he forget?

The bloodsoaked piece of fabric falls from his hand, his fingers too weak to hold onto it anymore.

"Armitage?"

It's the last thing he hears before darkness swallows him up, his eyes falling shut.

How lovely a sound coming from Ren's lips, he thinks before he doesn't think anymore at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting! 
> 
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> 
> See you in 2019!


	19. Interlude: Making Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cadet is young and passionate, indoctrinated from birth, and thus willing to die for the First Order. Already a perfect little soldier at the tender age of eight.
> 
> Kylo can feel his eagerness as if it were his own, warming his blood and making him light-headed. The strength of his conviction is not unlike the intoxicating high one experiences with stims, or—more commonly—the aid of Ebla ale.
> 
> He looks around, taking in the sleek walls illuminated by cold light. The only sign of life is the bright aurae of the children moving through the corridors, chattering among themselves, even though they know full well that they're not supposed to engage in such frivolities.They take no notice when they hurry past Kylo, too afraid of being late to their lessons to care much for the stranger in their midst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> First of all: Happy New Year to all of you!
> 
> Second of all: I'm sorry that it took me so long to update this fic! But writing from Kylo's POV? An absolute disaster, haha. It was so hard for me, you have no idea. Here's to hoping I didn't fuck it up completely!
> 
> I want to give a huge shout-out to [VigilanteFlower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilanteFlower/profile) and [Callmelyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmelyss/profile) for whipping this whole thing into shape and being amazing editors and beta-readers! What would I do without you!?

Interlude — Kylo Ren

  
  
The cadet is young and passionate, indoctrinated from birth, and thus willing to die for the First Order. Already a perfect little soldier at the tender age of eight.

Kylo can feel his eagerness as if it were his own, warming his blood and making him light-headed. The strength of his conviction is not unlike the intoxicating high one experiences with stims, or—more commonly—the aid of Ebla ale.

He looks around, taking in the sleek walls illuminated by cold light. The only sign of life is the bright aurae of the children moving through the corridors, chattering among themselves, even though they know full well that they're not supposed to engage in such frivolities.They take no notice when they hurry past Kylo, too afraid of being late to their lessons to care much for the stranger in their midst.

_ All hail the First Order. Long may it reign. _

The whispered propaganda echoes through his mind, spoken in the voices of a dozen children, too young to understand what it truly means and yet old enough to believe it with unwavering conviction.

He moves through the crowd like a shadow, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips when the young cadets part for him without conscious thought. Only one child, a boy not older than six, with bright eyes and a serious mouth, lifts his gaze when Kylo breezes past him, confusion written into the stubborn set of his eyebrows. Kylo can feel the boy’s suspicious gaze on his back as he makes his way deeper into the labyrinthine tunnels of Arkanis Academy, until he comes to a halt in front of a thick set of durasteel doors.

They do not deter him.

All it takes is a little push, an order not spoken aloud, and the doors slide open as they bend to his will.

He steps past the threshold and finds himself in what he assumes is an officer's lounge, lavishly decorated and swarming with people.

_ Victory! Glory! Power! _

All these kinds of thoughts are filling the the air, together with the easy laughter of the powerful and the smell of smug satisfaction. Kylo has no patience for such posturing, and doesn’t care for their little victories either. He’s here for something else.

He spots the cadet quickly enough, older now, with his hair neatly combed back. His eyes are on a far older man who is standing at the other end of the room, engaged in a hushed conversation with a woman all too familiar to Kylo.

Rae Sloane looks younger; her hair is not yet streaked with silver and the lines in her face are not as pronounced. A warm, sticky feeling of admiration blooms in his chest, not his own, but that of the cadet staring at her so reverently. Admiration, Kylo deduces, tinged with a note of infatuation. It always tastes particularly sweet on the tip of his tongue, almost sickening.

The man Sloane is talking to is no stranger either, although Kylo can't say that he's particularly fond of him. Brendol Hux, with his broad shoulders and stocky build, is younger than Kylo has ever seen him. His back is ramrod straight and his chin lifted high, not the husk of a man he was shortly before his death. And yet, a glint of paranoia is already burning in his glassy eyes.

A murmur sweeps through the room, making both the older Hux and Sloane pause mid-conversation as they turn to see what has the crowd so aroused all of the sudden.

They look right through Kylo, their eyes fixed on something behind him. When he turns, he sees Armitage striding into the room, his head held high.

He's young, his uniform not yet adorned with the stripes of a grand marshal, or even those of a general. His full upper lip already curls in a cruel smile, which Kylo so thoroughly enjoys kissing off his face.

A wave of envy and impotent anger washes over him, not directed at Kylo but entirely at Hux. It grows stronger when Sloane dismisses Brendol with a careless flick of her wrist and walks past Kylo, greeting her protégé with elation shining in her eyes. Kylo can't help but smile, amused by the stench of petty jealousy permeating the recycled air.

_ You hate him because Sloane favored him and not you. _

He watches closely as Hux chats with Sloane, easily seeing through his feigned modesty when she praises his progress with the stormtrooper programme. Pride blossoms in Kylo's chest, his affection for Hux drowning out the naked jealousy and hatred directed at the young officer.

_ You shouldn't be here... _

Kylo blinks and tears his gaze away from Hux, only to come face to face with the cadet whose unsavory thoughts are still echoing in Kylo's mind.

_ Get out! _

All heads turn, the entire crowd now suddenly painfully aware of the intruder in their midst. Hostility rises all around him, pressing in from all sides in an attempt to crush him.

Kylo inclines his head, his voice no more than a whisper, but clear and powerful.

_ Very well then. _

His lightsaber comes alive with a crackling hiss, purring like a nexu as it cuts through flesh and bone alike.The cadet gasps, eyes widening in horror as he falls to his knees, his chest wide open, the margins burned black.Paying him no attention, Kylo surges forward, every single step making the ground underneath his feet shudder and moan.

_ Intruder. Intruder. Intruder. _

The panicked susurrus of a thousand voices comes to a screeching crescendo, louder and louder until Kylo's ears are ringing with the noise of it. A thousand hands reach out for him, pulling at his clothes and hair, their nails clawing at his exposed face.

_ Enough! _

The mindless mass comes to a screeching halt, their faces overcome with fear and confusion. They pull away slowly, sliding back into the shadows where they keep watching him with pale, white eyes. However, one pitiful creature they have left behind. Sitting at Kylo's feet, bent and broken, is the cadet.

_ You think you can keep your memories from me. That you can fool me into thinking there's no more to it than this. You're wrong. _

Kylo reaches out, but before he can touch the whimpering cadet, the world underneath his feet shifts and breaks away, reality shattering into a thousand sparkling pieces.

He's falling for what seems like an eternity. Faces and places he has never seen fly past him, before it all comes to a screeching halt and solid ground is beneath his feet once more.

This new world around him is blinding white, with snowflakes falling from the sky and melting on his skin and tongue. They're salty, as if they're frozen tears. Crait, Kylo realizes when his boots leave dark-red imprints in the soil, pulsing like exposed hearts. The sounds of cracking salt and dripping blood follow him as he makes his way through this icy desert and towards the Resistance's hideout, forming words he has already heard before.

_ He's a child. An untamed animal. Unfit to lead the First Order. He'll be our downfall. _

It's the cadet, now a lieutenant, talking insistently to Hux while throwing nervous glances in the other direction. Hux is barely listening, all his attention on something else entirely, something lying in the shadows past Kylo. He's standing ramrod straight, his arms behind his back, the epitome of military grace if it weren’t for the red welts around his neck, peeking out from the starched collar of his uniform.

His doing, Kylo knows. He doesn’t quite regret it. Men like them are not meant to feel regret. But he does wonder whether or not it would have made a difference had he not abused Hux so. After all, what were a few more bruises to Hux, whose father had beaten him with vicious abandon and sadistic delight long before Kylo was born?

_ Your hatred for Hux was only eclipsed by your fear of me. You underestimated us both. _

The scene slowly melts away, the white and red of Crait's hills transforming into luscious greens and blues, the cave walls twisting into the shape of trees and bushes, the air growing humid and hot. He’s never been to this place, but is given no opportunity to take in the twisted beauty of his surroundings as Rae Sloane's impressive figure manifests before him. She takes no notice of him as she walks through the thriving landscape, the sweating lieutenant by her side.

_ Julia Agrippina sent me. It's a cry for help. It's a proposal. The First Order needs you. The Supreme Leader must die. Long live the Supreme Leader. _

There, at last, proof of betrayal. Kylo swings his lightsaber in a wide arc. The lieutenant jerks around, eyes wide as he stares at Kylo.

_ Get out! _

He stumbles forward, face distorted with terror and fear.

_ Get out of my head! _

Kylo ignores his screams and follows when he tries to flee, walking at a leisurely pace, yet inching ever closer no matter how fast the lieutenant runs. The man falls to his knees with a whimper, holding his head in between his hands, and curls up on the ground, making himself as small as possible.

_ Enough! Please! Enough! Julia Agrippina. She said I would be brave. I would be honored by the First Order. _

"We're done here."

The man hangs limply in the interrogation chair, a thin thread of saliva dangling from his split lip, pink where it has mixed with blood.

"Bring in the executioner. I have what I came for."

He leaves without another word, confident that his orders will be obeyed, and with Ourani close on his heels.

_ Another traitor? _ she signs, foregoing their telepathic bond in favor of a more conventional form of communication.

Kylo nods, clenching and unclenching his fist in a futile attempt to overcome the nervous energy thrumming beneath his skin.

_ This conspiracy runs deep _ , she muses, hands shifting from sign to sign in one fluid motion.  _ And you're doing well to make sure every root and every sprout of it has been eradicated, but why not let us do it? Surely, there are more important tasks that require your attention than the interrogation of every soldier on this ship. _

He doesn't answer, too distracted by the embarrassment slowly crawling up his throat, which he tries to forcefully swallow down again.

The implications are clear and Ourani's doubts are not entirely unfounded.

He shouldn't be here, wasting precious time with breaking the minds of low-ranked officers. Not when Julia Agrippina and Rae Sloane are rotting away in their cells, waiting for Kylo to pass judgement on them.

"Kallio is conducting most of the interrogations," he argues, though he sounds unconvincing even to his own ears.

_ And yet you insist on carrying out many of the interrogations yourself. _

Kylo growls low in his throat, making two officers who happen to cross their path quickly avert their eyes and hurry past. Ourani chuckles. She has never been afraid of him. Unfortunately. In a way, she reminds him of his mother. His cheek grows hot at the memory of his mother on Arkanis and how she hadn't hesitated to slap him across the face.

Ourani is right, of course: there are more important matters at hand that require his attention. According to the reports, the remaining members of the Resistance have miraculously managed to escape Arkanis, slipping through the First Order's lines when chaos had erupted on the  _ Huntress  _ and Julia Agrippina had staged her moribund coup.

Hunting the Resistance down and destroying it once and for all should be his ultimate goal. But despite the urgency of the situation, Kylo has yet to give any explicit orders to trace the  _ Millenium Falcon _ through hyperspace, or dispatch his troops to follow it to whatever backwater planet the Resistance has fled to now.

"Are you questioning my methods?" Kylo grumbles, eyebrow twitching as he turns to Ourani.

She shakes her head and moves her hands in slow, gentle waves, reminding him to calm his temper.

_ No _ , she signs,  _ I'm questioning only your priorities _ .

He huffs, breathing in and out through the nose, sorely tempted to release some of his anger by crushing one of the many droids darting through the corridors with the Force.

"Don't you have interrogations to oversee?" he asks, his mood souring further with every passing second.

Her laughter reverberates in his head, still a little faint—the terentatek’s powers haven't quite lost their potency yet—and shrugs.

_ As you wish, then. I shall leave you to your brooding. But you can't avoid her forever. Better to get it over with. _

She's gone before Kylo can do so much as think of a reply, effectively leaving him standing lost and alone in the _Huntress_ ’ winding corridors, anxiety pulling at his seams.

Ourani's advice, though unsolicited, wasn’t bad. Sooner or later, he'll have to face the woman who has all but raised Hux, has been his mentor, his idol, and in parts, also Kylo's. After all, who among those who have served and fought side by side with his grandfather are still alive to tell the tale?

Gritting his teeth, he makes a decision.

The way to the holding cells is a quiet one, almost too quiet. As if the whole ship has sensed Kylo's agitation and decided it would be the wiser course of action to avoid him entirely. The only soul he encounters is the prison guard and his droid companion, both of whom quickly clear the way upon his approach. Rae Sloane's cell is small and devoid of any comfort that one would usually allow high-ranking prisoners such as herself. Kylo is nothing if not vindictive.

Momentarily deactivating the energy shields keeping Sloane caged up, Kylo steps inside her cell and takes in the woman who has helped in almost bringing down the First Order's Supreme Leader.

She doesn't look much worse for wear, despite the many hours forced to spend in cross-interrogations and solitary confinement. Her mind is as unbending and impenetrable as ever. Kylo could break it, he's sure of it. Reduce her to a drooling, babbling mess, a former shell of herself, a mere shadow of the woman she is now.

He won't.

Too many questions are still left unanswered, too many whys and hows hanging in the stale air between them, for him to give into the burning desire to see her punished for her crimes.

"Supreme Leader," she greets him from her cot and rises to her feet.

So she's not quite without respect for him, Kylo muses, though it does little to improve his opinion of her.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

It's infuriating, how little she fears him, even though Kylo has expected as much.

"You know why I'm here," he tells her outright.

He doesn't have the patience for polite pretense. Not like Hux, who could insult a man in a thousand different ways and still have him believe he's being complimented.

Sloane is smart enough not to antagonize him any further and the artificial sweetness with which she has greeted him melts away to make way for hardened steel.

"You want answers," she deduces. "Though you're quite late in coming to demand them."

Kylo keeps an entirely straight face.

"I'm here now and that's all that matters."

She's too sharp for her own good, riling him up with her casual observations without meaning to. Or she does and cares little for the consequences. Kylo can't quite figure out which it is.

"You conspired with Julia Agrippina to have myself and Grand Marshal Hux removed from our positions and to take control of the First Order. Why?"

One of her silver-grey brows twitches at the mention of Hux but other than that her expression remains carefully neutral.

"Because I considered you unfit to lead the First Order and the Grand Marshal emotionally compromised," she says, unafraid.

Once more, Kylo has been deemed lacking, once more he's refused the respect his abilities and bloodline demand.

A child in a mask, Snoke had called him. The same sentiment shines in Sloane's eyes.

Anger claws at Kylo's insides and burns in the back of his throat. It would be so easy to let loose and allow the Dark to take a hold of him, to tear Sloane apart for her impertinence. And yet he doesn't. Instead, he swallows down the raging fury, refuses to let Sloane's words get to him so easily.

_ Hux would have been proud _ , a small voice in the back of his head assures him.

It's a curious development and one Kylo has yet to understand completely, this desire to please Hux and gain his approval. Initially, he had blamed the pleasure that came with sexual intercourse for his newfound eagerness to impress the Grand Marshal but quickly discarded the idea when the feeling persisted outside the four corners of the bedroom.

Introspection is not his strong suit, loath as he is to admit that much even to himself, but there's no denying that the pillar of his and Hux's relationship has shifted from disdain to something resembling mutual respect, something almost tender.

He pushes these whirlwind thoughts back to the furthest recesses of his mind. This is not the time to ponder his emotional entanglements with Hux.

He straightens his posture once more, puffing up his chest despite knowing that Sloane isn't one to be impressed by such juvenile displays of masculinity and dominance.

"You were wrong," Kylo tells her, a note of superiority creeping into his voice. "We defeated you and kept our hold on Arkanis at the same time."

"And don't you think I'm glad for it?" she snaps back, causing Kylo's smug self-satisfaction to quickly deflate.

"You conspired against us,” he hisses. “Against me and Hux. Hatched a plan to have us killed. It's far too late to feign concern now, Grand Admiral."

Sloane purses her lips, the mocking use of her former title not lost on her.

"Because it was the right thing to do," she argues. "For the sake of the Order. You of all people should know that greatness doesn't come without sacrifices. My personal feelings for Armitage were irrelevant. I would not abandon my principals for him. He would have understood that."

Kylo snarls, incensed by the casual mention of Hux’s first name.

"Don't dare speak his name. You've forfeited that privilege."

Sloane bristles at that but says no more on the matter, far too smart to risk agitating him any further.

"I may have underestimated him. And you," she admits after a while, perhaps in an attempt to make amends.

"You have," Kylo agrees. "But that realization won't help you now."

"Then you're here to play judge, jury and executioner all at once?"

She's not afraid to die, Kylo can see it in her posture, in the way she holds herself and doesn’t back down, not even when he steps closer.

Not too long ago he wouldn't have hesitated to teach her the true meaning of fear, to cut her head off her straight shoulders with a single blow. Now, the once overwhelming urge is merely a twitch and thus easily discarded.

Kylo has endured Hux's sharp tongue far too long for Sloane's cheap barbs to have any affect on him.

"No," he mutters. "You've said it already. I'm here looking for answers."

Sloane cocks her head, a flicker of uncertainty flashing in her eyes.

"And if I give you all the answers you desire, will I be free of these chains, of this cell?"

Kylo smiles, and it's a sharp and cruel thing that has Sloane tightening her fists at her sides.

"No."

She clicks her tongue. "I didn't think so. But for Armitage's sake, I shall give you the answers you seek all the same."

Kylo doesn't correct her usage of Hux's first name.

As it turns out, Sloane knows much about Agrippina's plans to overthrow them, giving him enough proof to have her sentenced thrice over. She even goes so far as to offer to stand witness should Kylo decide to have a public trial. He doesn't give her the satisfaction of openly acknowledging her offer or taking her up on it, but it's certainly something to keep in the back of his mind and, if necessary, use to his advantage.

A public trial where Sloane reveals all of Agrippina's treachery and that of her co-conspirators sounds like something Hux would’ve certainly enjoyed.

Kylo blinks, bewildered by his own train of thought. Propaganda and subterfuge had always been Hux's area of expertise. Kylo himself has never particularly enjoyed the convoluted schemes of politicians and regards them with open disain. Not in small part due to an early childhood spent surrounded by the bootlickers and cowards his mother called friends, more concerned with their public image than actual change.

Hux has been, if not a bad influence, then certainly an unexpected one.

"You knew Hux wouldn't kill you when he apprehended you in his quarters, didn't you?" He asks, eager to change the subject.

Sloane takes the sudden shift in their conversation in stride.

"Hux killed his own father, as you must surely know. What makes you think he’d have hesitated to kill a former mentor?" she asks, seemingly offended by the insinuation that Hux could have been influenced by something as trivial as personal feelings when he made the decision to let her go.

"You're different," Kylo argues. "And you know it. Counted on it."

After all, Kylo has seen the memories of Hux's father, even though they hadn’t been shared with him voluntarily at that time.

Brendol Hux had been a strict man, cruel for cruelty's sake, much different from his own father. How often had Ben Solo felt abandoned when his father left for one of his many nonsensical missions? How relieved was he every time Han returned? Would he have felt that same way had Brendol Hux been his father?

"You're important to him," Kylo goes on, shaking off the memories of his father that threaten to overcome him. "A mentor and a friend."

Rae Sloane shrugs.

"Perhaps. But what does that make you?"

She throws him a look, reproachful as if she's blaming him for all that has happened. Maybe she's right to do so.

"Who are you that he was willing to risk losing everything he has worked so many years to build? Who are you that he was ready to kill and die for you? That he wouldn't even consider the possibility of leaving you to your fate, not even when it would have saved both his life and his reputation?"

Kylo stares at her, contemplating, before he turns and makes to leave.

"That," he says in farewell. "Is something I have yet to understand myself."

 

* * *

 

  
He's given no time to brood. As soon as he sets foot outside Sloane's cell, he's apprehended by Phasma, an aura of urgency surrounding her. Her composure is remarkable. Kylo has always thought so. At times, he even envied her for it. Like he does in this very moment.

Since the whole debacle with Agrippina and the Resistance's escape from Arkanis, it has been Phasma who has carried out the bulk of the accruing administrative tasks. She’s the one making sure that the First Order doesn't fall apart in the wake of that Agrippina's doomed-to-fail coup de grâce. She's the one ensuring that they retain tight control of Arkanis, despite their shortage of personnel, caused in no little part by Kylo's fondness for executions. He's well-aware that her usual duties don't include such tasks but so far, she's taking the additional responsibilities in stride.

"Sir," she salutes him, a datapad tucked under her arm.

"What is it, captain?"

His tone is brusque, but Phasma isn't the type to be easily insulted or intimidated.

"A first report from Arkanis. We have several hundred children deemed suitable for the stormtrooper programme. With your permission, they can be assigned to our remaining star destroyers by tomorrow morning, Galactic Standard Time."

She pauses, her head held high as she looks at him expectantly.

"Do it then," Kylo allows, seeing no reason to deny her.

With him and his knights weeding out the traitors and cowards among their ranks, the First Order will soon be in dire need of fresh blood.

Phasma nods but doesn't take her leave yet, follows him even when he heads for his quarters.

"Is there something else?" he asks after a while, grinding his teeth.

"I take it you haven't found the time to check your datapad then, sir?" Phasma asks.

Kylo glares at her, eyes dark.

"No. Why?"

"Because not ten minutes ago, the medical bay sent out a classified, high priority memo to the First Order's High Command, meaning you and me. Grand Marshal Hux, sir. He's awake."  
  


* * *

  
"Supreme Leader," the new chief medical officer greets him upon arrival.

Kylo hasn't bothered to learn his name yet, although one has to give the man some credit for being the only one willing to take on a position that has developed somewhat of a reputation after the last two chief medical officers have met such unfortunate ends.

The entire medical bay is filled with the moans and whimpers of the injured and dying, with the exhausted sighs of the nurses tending to them and the patient whirring of the droids. They're hopelessly understaffed, even Kylo can see that much, though there's little he can do about it right now.

"Supreme Leader," the officer says again, in a tone that gives Kylo reason to believe that it isn't the first or even the second time the man has tried to get his attention.

"I've received your memo," Kylo tells the man, expecting to be brought to Hux immediately.

"Well, yes," the other admits, "but the Grand Marshal is in no condition to receive visitors yet. Besides, I have some reports here that might be of interest to you--"

Kylo doesn’t let him finish.

"I don't care," he says and extends his mind to search for the distinctive aura that is Hux's: a beacon of black light and steely resolve among the desperation and fear that's permeating the air.

"But, sir," the medical officers argues. "These are your medical records. When--when we operated we found unusually high amounts of synox in your bloodstream; the concentration high enough to kill an ordinary man."

Kylo doesn't bother to explain to him the intricacies of his training, or how the Force can be utilized to make his body resistant to all kinds of poisons, to render him almost immune. No, he has neither the time nor the patience to explain all that. However...

"You're saying someone has been trying to kill me."

The man nods, visibly pleased with his Supreme Leader for catching up so quickly. If they weren't so woefully short on qualified labor, Kylo would have had him killed for the audacity.

"The traces of poison that we found indicated that there's been a much higher concentration initially and that your body has already started to eliminate it by the time we discovered it. I'm convinced somebody must have injected you with small doses over a longer period of time. Intravenously too. We found no traces of it in your stomach or intestines. Very curious indeed,” the medical officer says, tapping his chin in contemplation.

It’s much less of a mystery to Kylo.

When he lay unconscious during his Ayna-seff, all but dead to the outside world, only his knights, Hux and then chief medical officer Catar Ilin had access to his body.

Catar Ilin, who had turned out to be a spy sent by Julia Agrippina. 

There's no doubt in Kylo's mind that it must have been him who tried to kill him slowly and discreetly but failed to account for his higher resistance as a Force-sensitive. Hux would have never made such an obvious mistake. And as bizarre as it might seem, to Kylo that knowledge is comforting.

"Is there a risk of lasting damages?" Kylo asks.

The officer shakes his head.

"There should be, by all accounts. But your system seems to be recovering remarkably quickly."

"Good," Kylo cuts him off. "Dismissed."

Staring at him with wide eyes, the man looks like he's about to argue but then thinks better of it.  
  


* * *

  
Contrary to the officer's claim, Kylo finds Hux sitting upright in his bed, datapad in hand, his lips pursed. No doubt he's mulling over reports already, either oblivious to Kylo's sudden appearance or simply refusing to acknowledge him.

It's just as well. It gives Kylo an opportunity to study the man in front of him a little closer, without having to fear repercussions for staring.

It's not the first time he’s seeing Hux out of his heavily padded uniform but he doubts that it'll ever lose its novelty. He seems so much more vulnerable like this, softer even, though appearances can be deceiving, as Kylo very well knows. His hair is unstyled and free of its usual restraints, the red-gold strands framing his face and curling a little at the nape of his neck and behind his ears. He's still a little pale, causing his red lips to stand out all the more. Kylo is sorely tempted to slide over and kiss them until they're shiny with saliva.

"Will you stand there for much longer or come over already?"

So Hux has noticed him after all.

Giving no answer, Kylo simply steps closer and makes himself comfortable in the only chair in the room, settling down at Hux's left side.

He frowns at that, somewhat displeased, and turns his head to be able to properly look at Kylo.

"Given that I'm still alive and that you’re still alive, I take it that Agrippina has been put into her place."

It's not a question, but Kylo nods nonetheless.

"Yes," he says, eyes roaming over Hux's body. "But you knew that already."

He indicates the datapad in Hux's hand with a jerk of his head.

"I've been advised to rest until I've fully recovered and avoid stress," he admits, somewhat sheepish as he puts the datapad aside.

"Advice which you obviously ignored."

"Obviously," Hux admits without much shame and Kylo can't help but smile a little.

They lapse into silence after that, neither of them quite ready to discuss what had happened.

_ You were willing to die for me _ , Kylo thinks but doesn't say.

"Your arm," Hux says after a while, voice faint though he tries hard to make himself sound like the Grand Marshal he is, cold and to the point. "It seems to me like they did a remarkable job of replacing it."

Kylo looks down at the arm in question, clenching and unclenching the metal fingers of his artificial fist.

"It works well enough," he concedes.

It's the best the First Order has to offer, truly a miracle of modern technology, and it has been made specifically for him, though it has yet to start feeling like his, like it belongs to him.

Perhaps it never will.

The irony of it is not lost on him. He's not the first in his family line to lose a limb and have it replaced with a prosthetic. As a young boy, Ben Solo had marvelled at the shiny metal of his uncle's hand, was fascinated by how cold it felt to the touch. Never would he have imagined having to wear one himself.

"It feels different...wrong somehow," he admits in a small voice, not quite daring to look at Hux.

"I imagine that won't change for quite some time. If ever."

The words themselves offer only a little comfort but Hux's expression when Kylo raises his head to meet his gaze is of such tenderness and gentle regret, he feels warmth blooming in his chest nonetheless.

"What about you?" Kylo asks, lifting a hand to carefully brush his fingertips over the bandage covering the left half of Hux's face.

Hux stiffens underneath his touch.

"I've been offered a replacement," he says. "Which I declined."

Kylo's wandering fingers come to a sudden halt.

"What?"

"You've heard me, Kylo."

In any other situation Kylo would have rejoiced at hearing his first name rolling off Hux's lips like this, tinged with an almost painful familiarity, but not now.

"Why? There's no reason--"

"Actions have consequences," Hux interrupts him. "And this is the price I have to pay for the mistakes I’ve made."

Ire bubbles up in Kylo's throat, acidic and thick.

"Is that what I am?!" he hisses, his vision blurring as angry tears collect in the corners of his eyes. "A mistake?!"

He pulls away from Hux, fingers shaking as he tries to reign in his overboiling temper.

Hux on the other hand, simply stares at him, his shoulders drawn back and his hands neatly folded in his lap, the epitome of self-control and poise.

How Kylo could have ever hoped--

"Don't be such an idiot, Kylo," Hux snaps and despite the hot-burning rage spreading in his belly, Kylo can't help but shiver at the mention of his chosen name.

"Was I not willing to die for you?" Hux asks, growing louder with every word. "Did I not turn on the woman who all but raised me? And all for you?”

Hux’s eye is a brilliant green as he snaps at Kylo, his cheeks flushed with righteous anger.

"How dare you question me still! How dare you act indignant when it was me who risked everything I ever was, everything I ever had, for you?!"

Kylo kisses him.

Kisses him until they're both short of breath. And then he kisses him again and again, cradling Hux's narrow face in his hands. He kisses him until their mouths are sore and every touch sparks as much pleasure as pain.

Always has Kylo yearned for power for power's sake. Never knowing why, never with a purpose.

Not anymore.

"The whole known universe, it shall be yours," he promises Hux in between biting kisses. "Every last system, every planet, every moon. It will all be yours."

Underneath his hands, Hux shivers, a soft moan caught between their lips.

"Promises," he whispers, a little slurred, feigning indifference even when Kylo can feel the delight and hunger rolling off him in waves.

"An oath," Kylo corrects him, nipping at Hux's jaw. "The skulls of our enemies shall adorn our fleet."

Hux laughs and brushes his fingers over Kylo's cheeks, the touch pleasantly cold against his fevered skin.

"You Force-sensitives are always so overdramatic."

"And yet the idea pleases you."

"Maybe," Hux allows while combing through Kylo's tangled hair. "What has happened to Agrippina’s skull? It might make a good mantlepiece."

"She's alive."

"Alive?" Hux echoes, his grip tightening in surprise. "I would have thought you had her executed right there on the battlefield."

Kylo hums thoughtfully. "I thought you might enjoy a public execution. So I waited."

Hux pulls back just enough to be able to properly look at Kylo, his single green eye burning with a cold fire.

"You were right," he says, a smile pulling at his mouth. "Rare as that is."

In another time, such words would have provoked a violent outburst but now all Kylo gives in reply is a low grumble as he presses closer to demand another kiss.

"You did well," Hux tells him unexpectedly, after giving into Kylo’s demands.

Praise from Hux is a rare thing and must be cherished accordingly, and so Kylo allows himself to, just for a heartbeat, indulge, to luxuriate in the feeling of contentment that Hux's words elicit.

He closes his eyes and breathes in the clean scent of Hux, rests his head on a narrow shoulder and kisses the pale skin. If Hux is bothered by this display of intimacy then he doesn't say. Instead, he lets his hand glide through Kylo's long strands, twirling the ends between his fingertips.

"All hail the Supreme Leader," he breathes close to Kylo's ear.

"And all hail the First Order," Kylo whispers in return. "Long may we reign."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting! 
> 
> Feel free to scream at me in the comments or on [tumblr](http://staticraining.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/StaticRaining)


	20. Hard-earned Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tinted windows shift from dark grey to their regular transparency, allowing them to take in the splendid panorama that is the universe stretching out before their eyes. Even Hux, despite all his pragmatism, has to admit that the view is stunning: the velvet black of space, interspersed with the trailing tails of comets and glittering stars light years away. Most of these worlds—nothing more than specks of white on this nightdark canvas—are already theirs. Very few are left that have yet to bend the knee to the Supreme Leader of the First Order and his Grand Marshal.
> 
> "It's ours." Kylo all but purrs, the deep baritone of his voice a pleasant rumble in Hux’s ear. "The whole universe trembles at our names."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> Here it is now, the last chapter of my little Kyluc fanfic. When I started writing it I didn't plan on it getting any longer than 50k words. Now look at us now.
> 
> I want to give a huge shout-out to [VigilanteFlower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilanteFlower/profile), [MsModernity](https://twitter.com/MsModernity) and [Callmelyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmelyss/profile) for whipping this whole thing into shape and being amazing editors and beta-readers! What would I do without you!?
> 
> I also want to thank [StoryTellingApe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingape/profile) for always being there for me when I was stuck again, for offering encouragement and for cheering me on. 
> 
> And I want to thank every single one of you who has read this fic, wrote comments, left kudos or was so nice to share this fic on social media. I love you all, thank you.

XVI

 

Adjusting to his new circumstances takes time. Much more than Hux would have preferred, and so the first few weeks after his discharge from the medical bay are hallmarked by frustration and anger at his lack of progress. Feelings that he hides from everyone but Kylo. After all, there's no point in trying to hide anything from a Force-sensitive so finely attuned to him and his moods. In Hux’s mind, it's Kylo who’s to blame for his current predicament anyway.

"I should have taken Sloane up on her offer and left you to die,” he huffs, adjusting the eyepatch resting over his empty eye socket.

"Perhaps,” Kylo allows, stretching languidly on the bed, his prosthetic arm nowhere in sight. Unlike Hux, he has quickly adapted to his new life. Once his wounds had healed and their biotechnological department engineered a custom prosthetic for him, he was back in the training bay. And even though setbacks had been expected and, in the beginning, were quite frequent, Kylo managed to do something Hux is still struggling with: he accepted his lot.

Kylo’s casual nonchalance is as infuriating as it is pleasing. If this whole mess with Agrippina has any upsides, it's certainly this newfound (and rather unexpected) calm. Not that his infamous temper has simply dissipated—the heated arguments they're still having on a regular basis are a testament to that—but something about losing his sword arm to a terentatek has taught Kylo Ren to pick his fights more carefully. And a fight with Hux over whether or not it has been a wise decision to develop a sense of loyalty is apparently not worth the hassle.

"It's your fault I've lost an eye," Hux tells him nonetheless.

Kylo doesn't argue. Instead, he rolls out of bed and walks over to Hux, shameless in his nakedness.

"A great sacrifice indeed," he says, and though it seems sincere, Hux still throws him a sharp look in warning.

"Was it not worth it?" Kylo prods further, his arm winding around Hux's narrow waist. "Viewports to 100% transparency."

The tinted windows shift from dark grey to their regular transparency, allowing them to take in the splendid panorama that is the universe stretching out before their eyes. Even Hux, despite all his pragmatism, has to admit that the view is stunning: the velvet black of space, interspersed with the trailing tails of comets and glittering stars light years away. Most of these worlds—nothing more than specks of white on this nightdark canvas—are already theirs. Very few are left that have yet to bend the knee to the Supreme Leader of the First Order and his Grand Marshal.

"It's ours." Kylo all but purrs, the deep baritone of his voice a pleasant rumble in Hux’s ear. "The whole universe trembles at our names."

"Not the whole universe," Hux immediately argues. "We have yet to snuff out the last remnants of the Resistance."

Something that Kylo has, so far, neglected to do.

Kylo's fingers, which have been busy unbuttoning Hux's tunic, twitch with a flicker of uncertainty.

"Just as we have yet to find Rae Sloane," he hums, lips trailing along Hux's chin and neck.

Rae Sloane had done the impossible and disappeared from the  _ Huntress  _ only days after Hux had returned to his duties as Grand Marshal. She left no useable trace, and the trooper who had been tasked to monitor her cell was found unconscious during shift changeover. He was unharmed, not a single scratch on him, but without any memories of the events that had led to his incapacitation and Sloane's escape. 

So far Hux has taken no action to have her brought back to the Order. If anybody were to ask him why, he would tell them that it would be unjustifiable to waste precious resources on one woman. Especially when the First Order is still recovering from the losses sustained during Agrippina's attack. But the only person he'd owe any kind of explanation to is the Supreme Leader himself, and he isn't so foolish as to ask.

"One day." Hux says, leaving it at that, and Kylo doesn’t pry. In return, Hux doesn't ask him about the remaining Resistance’s members, doesn't demand Kylo give the order to hunt them, find them and eliminate them once and for all.

It's not the most sensible course of action and the rational part of Hux’s mind is appalled at the idea of giving the Resistance more time to reform and reorganise. Although he's willing to compromise if that means he doesn't have to acknowledge his unwillingness to search for Sloane. He has a feeling Kylo will take care of the Resistance soon enough. As soon as his mother dies.

Meanwhile, Kylo's fingers have resumed their work on Hux’s uniform, working through the rows of small buttons with startling efficiency, considering that he has only one hand to work with. Soon enough, Hux's tunic falls open and to the ground.

He shivers, always cold no matter the temperature of his quarters, and presses himself against Kylo, bathing in the warmth of his body. It comes as no surprise that Kylo's hard already, his erection pressing against Hux's arse and staining the bottom of his jodhpurs.

"Take them off before you ruin them completely." Hux tells Kylo, who is all too eager to oblige.

Hux’s jodhpurs join his tunic on the ground and he steps out of them—his boots were already abandoned earlier, when he had returned to their quarters long after his shift was officially over.

Kylo's hand is on him in an instant, fingers sliding underneath the white, standard-issue shirt that regulation requires, to find his nipple.

"So impatient..." Hux chides and moans when Kylo rolls the tender nub between his fingers.

Kylo doesn't grace him with a reply, too preoccupied with coaxing as many needy sounds out of him as possible. Not long and Hux’s skin tingles with a sensation unlike any other, like a million fine feathers brushing over his body, touching him everywhere and nowhere all at once. It’s a familiar feeling: Kylo is using the Force to touch him, the searching tendrils of his consciousness penetrating Hux’s mental fortress as much as his body. It’s an intimacy much deeper than the simple press of fingers on skin.

It's as terrifying as it is arousing.

"Do you want to fuck me against the viewport?" Hux asks, voice a little higher than he would have liked.

Taking his sweet time, Kylo doesn’t answer immediately. Not until after he has sucked a red mark into Hux's neck that will be impossible to hide under the collar of his uniform.

"I will have you scream my name." he says, which is all the answer Hux needs.

"Big words," Hux teases, "especially coming from someone who, until recently, has only ever had his own hand for company."

And yet he raises no objections when Kylo's hand moves from underneath his shirt up to his chin, forcing Hux to turn his head enough to allow Kylo to kiss him.   
  
He's a little too rough, a little too eager, his teeth pulling at Hux's lips without much finesse, but Hux can't say that he minds. On the contrary, Kylo's eagerness is flattering, his impatience strangely charming, at least under these circumstances. 

As delightful as Kylo’s fervor is, Hux is no man to simply take it. No matter the shift in their relationship, there is one constant that remains: Hux won't ever make it easy for Kylo. He bites down on Kylo's tongue when it brushes over his teeth and pulls away just when Kylo leans in to deepen their kiss. Let him work for it. Let him chase the sweet press of Hux's lips and the taste of him on his tongue.

Kylo's inexperience is still noticeable—they had little time to broaden his horizon since their first, somewhat frantic time—but Hux has no complaints. After all, is there a more powerful feeling than a man capable of breaking another's mind and body, with but a flick of his wrist, being desperate for your approval?   
  
"You want me," Kylo mumbles in between two kisses, his labored breathing leaving a warm trail along Hux's skin. "I can feel it. I can see it."   
  
Hux snorts at that. It's hard to miss the erection tenting the front of his briefs. One doesn't have to be Force-sensitive to notice that.   
  
"And will you do something about it?" Hux challenges him, the unmistakable lilt of a smile coloring his voice. The invisible fingers caressing him stop for the duration of a heartbeat and then, all at once, move to slide between his legs.   
  
"Use your hand, Kylo." Hux chastises him, though the sensation in itself is rather pleasurable and his cock is twitching at every brush of that incorporeal power.   
  
Kylo grumbles into Hux's shoulder, the vibrations travelling through his body and collecting in the pit of his stomach where they settle in a tight knot made of need and desire.   
  
In the end, Kylo relents and moves his hand from Hux's chin down to his hips, where he presses his thumb into the dip of Hux's hipbone before sliding it underneath the hem of his underwear. With one determined pull and a muffled thud, Hux's briefs join the remaining clothes on the floor.   
  
"Your hands, put them on the transparisteel." Kylo demands next and pushes a knee between Hux's legs, forcing him to widen his stance. Hux indulges him.   
  
The transparisteel is cold; Hux can't quite help the shiver that runs through him when he complies and presses his palms flat against the smooth surface. He can hear Kylo shift behind him and a moment later, his erection brushes against him, sliding curiously between his cheeks and rubbing against his taint. It's maddening.   
  
"Lube is in the bedside drawer." Hux points out, only to be ignored.

Instead, Kylo kisses the back of his neck once more, the tip of his nose brushing against the short hair on the nape of Hux's nape.

Then he's gone and, with him, his warmth.

"What--"

Hux tries to turn his head only to realise that he can't move. Kylo is holding him firmly in place, not with his hand but with his power, thus making it impossible for Hux to do much more than stare at his own reflection in the transparisteel.

A moment later, Kylo's hands are on his ass and Hux would have jumped if he wasn't still incapacitated by the Force. With his whole body at Kylo’s mercy, there's little he can do but take whatever the other is intent on giving him.

Not too long ago, the prospect of Kylo having such control over him would have terrified Hux. Even now the arousal churning in his gut is interlaced with a thread of genuine fear, though it does little to temper his libido; his hard and leaking cock is proof of that.

At least he can still speak, which he finds out when Kylo parts his cheeks and licks a long stripe from his taint up to his twitching hole.

"Kriff." Hux curses, desperate to press into the touch and reach behind himself to pull Kylo closer by his offensively thick hair.

So far, Kylo has only used his tongue and mouth to suck Hux off—with Hux providing instructions and, when needed, aid—but this particular act Hux hasn't covered in his teaching. All the more surprising is it then that Kylo performs it with confidence and ease. Something Hux will have to investigate further once he's back in control of all his bodily functions and not leaking precome all over himself and the viewport.

Kylo moves slowly, his tongue circling Hux's hole and pulling away in maddening intervals, never quite breaching Hux but never giving him enough of a reprieve to catch his breath either. Hux shouldn't be surprised. Kylo is an experienced and competent torturer. But who could have predicted that those skills would translate so well in the bedroom?

"Kylo." Hux hisses, the sound coming out as little more than a whimper.

It does nothing to deter Kylo, who has never shown a shred of mercy in his whole life. He keeps licking at Hux with uncharacteristic patience, the blunt tips of his fingernails digging into Hux's skin.

Hux curses under his breath, single eye tightly shut so that he doesn’t have to see his own flushed cheeks and unhinged expression.

"Open your eye."

Kylo's voice is all at once impossibly close and very far away, a constant echo in the depths of Hux's agitated mind. It's not real. He knows it’s not. Kylo is still very much preoccupied with Hux's ass, his tongue now pressing against the tender rim of Hux’s hole. But Hux opens his eye nonetheless, stubbornly looking out of the viewport and refusing to pay his own reflection any mind.

“Beautiful, isn't it?" Kylo whispers in the crevices of his consciousness. Hux has no idea if he's talking about the universe stretching out beyond the five inches of thick transparisteel or his body trapped against it.

Hux's answer is a long, drawn out moan as Kylo breaches him with his thumb—the stretch made only slightly more bearable by the saliva slowly drying on Hux’s skin.

"Your fingers are ridiculous." Hux spits out between clenched teeth, almost biting down on his tongue when Kylo chuckles and, instead of pulling away, slides in deeper.

"Only one finger." he says, having the audacity to correct Hux. "Is it too much?"

The last is said with a teasing edge but Hux is not so far gone that he can't pick up on the subtle concern in Kylo's words.

"Don't be absurd.” He scoffs as he forces himself to relax, suddenly glad for the invisible powers holding him up against the viewport. His knees might have given out underneath him otherwise.

Kylo doesn't argue and he's not so foolish as to insult Hux any further by going easier on him either. Instead, he starts to use his tongue in addition to the finger already inside Hux, thrusting in and out until his saliva is sliding down Hux's taint and dripping down his balls. Soon, the pain of being stretched open is but a distant memory and Hux is panting like a two-credit whore, his breath fogging up the transparisteel.

"The TIE-squadrons will return from their patrol soon." Kylo mumbles as he thrusts into Hux with both his index- and forefinger, seemingly casual.

Hux knows him better than that.

"You planned this." he accuses him, though he can't deny that he's somewhat impressed. Kylo’s talents, though numerous, don’t usually encompass long-term planning.

"Perhaps..." Kylo allows and bites into the pale flesh of Hux’s ass cheek. Hux yelps.

Twice-cursed son of a nerf herder!

Kylo's quarters allow an excellent view over the hangar bay, where the TIE-fighters return to after their patrol flights. Which also means that, should one neglect to downscale the transparency on the viewports, the TIE-pilots have a rather unhindered view inside the quarters of their Supreme Leader.

"I'm going to kill you." Hux promises, enraged to have been deceived by Kylo of all people, and yet also grudgingly impressed. Not to mention ridiculously aroused, not in spite of Kylo's little stunt, but because of it.

He doesn't consider himself an exibitionist, not by far, but he can't deny that there lies a certain thrill in the risk of discovery, of being seen like this by his loyal soldiers; their regal Grand Marshal reduced to a whimpering mess, begging to be filled and defiled.

"You're not begging yet," Kylo comments, listening in on Hux's thoughts without his permission, "but you will be."

The quiet confidence in those words has Hux seething and he starts struggling against his invisible bonds. Unfortunately, to no avail, but much to Kylo's amusement.

Before Hux can protest, another finger joins the other two already moving in and out of him with a disgusting squelching sound that has his cock twitching.

"Kylo." Hux warns, teeth gnawing on his lower lip and tearing at the thin skin until the unmistakable tang of blood fills his mouth.

"Say it." Kylo whispers in return, moving in and out of Hux without much finesse but all the more strength.

With every second further the risk of the TIE-fighters returning increases and with every second further Hux can feel himself falling more and more apart.

He wants Kylo inside and all around him, wants to be held up against the transparisteel with Kylo’s hand parting his ass cheeks, impaling him on his cock. But he's not going to ask for that. He's not going to surrender and give Kylo what he wants.

Have their men see him like this if they must. Who would dare share what they witnessed anyway?

"You'll have to work harder for that." Hux tells him with a confidence he doesn't feel.

"Gladly," Kylo says and bends his fingers. It’s not at all what he would have expected.

"Kriffing hells!"

The pleasure shooting through Hux feels like a blaster bolt to the chest, burning bright and taking his breath away. He cries out once more, the sound reverberating in the vast space of their chambers.

"Kylo!" he gasps, attempting to break out of Kylo’s hold once more, only to realise that there's nothing to hold him back, no Force-bonds to keep him immobilised. He nearly stumbles in surprise and he would have fallen if not for the strong arm suddenly around his waist.

The loss of those fingers inside him hasn't quite registered yet when Kylo breaches him with his cock. The sudden stretch is uncomfortable, though not as painful as it could have been without any lube to ease the passage.

"Stubborn." Kylo whispers into his ear at the first thrust.

"Prideful." He goes on as he fucks Hux against the viewport, his hand resting inches above Hux’s crotch but never touching his neglected cock.

"Vituperative." He bites down on Hux's shoulder, teeth burying themselves deep into the pale skin.

Hux screams.

"Mine."

Hux feels dizzy, his head ringing with Kylo's voice, with the sounds of their coupling, with the wet slide of Kylo's cock and with his own labored breathing.

What else is there to do but take it?

He's half delirious with pleasure when Kylo stops, his hips coming to a sudden halt, though he doesn't pull out of Hux.

"There." he says, lips brushing along the shell of Hux's ear. "They're coming."

Hux blinks his eye open, unaware of even having closed it, and lifts his head, a few strands of hair obscuring his view, though not enough that he's spared the sight of the returning TIE-fighters.

They zip past the viewport, gone as quickly as they've come, but for Hux these moments seem to last a lifetime, as terrifying as they are exhilarating.

Have they been seen? Has one of the pilots caught an accidental glimpse as they let their gaze drift to the viewports? Have they noticed a sliver of red in their periphery as they adjusted their flight path?

Hux will never know.

"How dare you." He hisses and turns to Kylo.

He's met with a kiss that swallows any reservations he might have tried to voice. It’s all teeth and tongue, Kylo's mouth easily covering his own and nipping at his bloodied lips. Even when Kylo pulls away, leaving Hux regretfully bereft, he's given no time to complain. As easily as if he was carrying a child, Kylo winds an arm around his waist and lifts Hux off the ground.He’s given no choice but to make a grab for Kylo’s neck to keep himself upright, lest he risks falling.

"I’ve lost an eye, not my legs," he snaps, "I can very well walk on my own."

Kylo pays him no mind and a moment later, Hux finds himself gently laid out on the bed. Kylo joins him soon after, looming above him, close but not close enough, as if he’s waiting for something before he dares touch Hux again.

"What is it?" Hux asks, feeling exposed under Kylo’s intense gaze.

Kylo keeps looking at him, expression unreadable.

"I hated you." He says at last, voice barely above a whisper.

Hux blinks, his mouth running dry.

"Hated?" He asks, just as softly, as if the confession comes as a surprise, as if he hasn’t hated Kylo just as much from the very first moment he laid eyes on him all those years ago.

"Yes," Kylo says, "but not anymore."

Just like that, with no more than three little words, Kylo has brought Hux's world on the verge of collapse. How dare Kylo voice what has only ever been implied? How dare he disrupt the fragile peace they have established between them? How can it be that he's so much braver than Hux in saying what he has not even dared to think?

Curse Kylo Ren. And curse himself for being as weak-willed as his father has always believed him to be.

"You fool." Hux chides, hand shaking as he reaches up to tug a lock of hair behind Kylo's ear that has come loose.

"I know."

Hux kisses Kylo before he can spout any more nonsense. He doesn’t want to hear it. He can’t. The reality of it too much to bear. So he puts his legs around Kylo's waist, demanding without so much as a word that he make good on his promise to make him scream.

Kylo's cock inside him feels like absolution, freeing him of his doubts and swirling thoughts, bringing him a little closer to blissful oblivion with every thrust.

"Faster." He demands, out of breath, but Kylo doesn't change his pace. He seems adamant about driving Hux into a frenzy with his deep thrusts that nudge his prostate at every upstroke but aren’t enough to have him reach his peak. Hux can't even reach his cock, not with how closely they're pressed together. He's at Kylo's mercy, much to his own dismay.

"You haven't begged yet." Kylo points out while pressing kisses to his neck and chin.

Tears are collecting in the corners of Hux's eyes, borne out of frustration and over-stimulation, and he knows with absolute certainty that he won't be able to resist for much longer.

Kylo is a monster, killing him with a gentleness he shouldn't possess and which Hux doesn't deserve.

"Please..." He whimpers, resolve crumbling.

He wants. He wants everything. Kylo in and around him. Kylo at his side. Kylo at his feet and Kylo looking down at him. His scent tickling his nose and his teeth leaving marks on Hux's skin. Hux wants all of him.

His broken plea elicits no gloating, no smug, self-satisfied smirk and no ridicule either. 

On the contrary, Kylo looks relieved, the serious line of his mouth relaxing marginally into something resembling a smile. He kisses Hux again, greedy, like he can never quite get enough of it, and Hux wonders if Kylo's fascination with this comparably tame activity hails from a general inexperience with all things physical, or if there's another reason he insists on kissing Hux breathless before he touches him.

"Kylo..." He pants into the neverending kiss, lips soon sore and puffy and yet Kylo doesn't let up.

He's gracious enough to start rolling his hips again, fucking Hux with an intensity he certainly appreciates and which will leave him sore and aching tomorrow. Kylo isn't brutal, far from it, but he doesn't hesitate to put his entire weight into every thrust. If not for Hux's sure grip on Kylo’s shoulders, he would have been pushed up the sheets and against the padded headrest already.

"I said faster!" Hux cries out, too caught up in his own pleasure to consider the possible consequences of such a demand.

"You'll blame me when your shift on the bridge turns out unbearable." Kylo points out, his words little more than a concatenation of grunts and moans.

He's holding himself up on one elbow, his face pressed into the curve of Hux's shoulder while his hips move in an unrelenting rhythm.

"I will," Hux agrees, not even trying to deny it, "and you'll do it anyway."

"Very well." Kylo relents.

The next thrust has Hux screaming, all decorum forgotten in the light of the force of nature that is Kylo Ren unrestrained.

"Hux," Kylo whispers, his voice far away, coming from all around and within Hux. He shakes his head, unable to form the words lodged in his throat. "Hux…" Kylo repeats, more urgently this time, his thrusts growing more erratic.

"Not yet." Hux hisses and presses his thighs into Kylo's sides.

"Together then."

Sentimental fool, Hux thinks. He would have voiced his thoughts too, if not for the telltale crackle of the intercom that announces a call and which makes his blood run cold.

"Grand Marshal? Sir?" a man's voice echoes through the room, somewhat distorted by the acoustic feedback.

For the duration of a heartbeat, there is absolute silence, both of them frozen in motion as they stare at each other with wide eyes. Then Kylo starts to move again, fast and unrelenting, every single thrust meant to make Hux cry out.

"Don’t!" Hux warns him, body twitching as he tries and fails to contain the needy noises spilling out of his mouth.

But Kylo never falters and when he calls out, loud enough for the intercom perched up on the bedside table to pick up on it, there's no remorse in his voice.

"The Grand Marshal is currently indisposed," he barks, his eyes gleaming with perverse delight.

Hux wants to argue but his pitiful protest dies on the tip of his tongue when Kylo grabs him by one ankle and hoists his leg over his shoulder. The new angle is even more torturous than the last and Hux can feel precome leak onto his soft belly at every shift of Kylo's hips. He's about to come, which, much to his increasing horror, is exactly what Kylo wants.

"Oh--"  The helpless stutter of the officer on the other side of the intercom cuts through the noise of their frantic fucking once more. "Supreme Leader? I just--I was tasked with informing the Grand Marshal that we'll reach Naboo's orbit in approximately twenty standard min--"

"Noted,” Kylo interrupts the man brusquely, his own control slipping as he buries himself deep inside Hux. "Prepare my ship."

Whatever else the unfortunate soul might have had to say gets drowned out by another desperate outcry from Hux.

"You. Absolute. Fool!" He groans, choking out the words in between Kylo's unrelenting thrusts. "You utter imbecile!"

His weak insults earn him a chuckle and another kiss so shockingly tender it has Hux’s head reeling.

"Yes." Kylo agrees, the timbre of his voice making the hairs on the nape of Hux's neck stand up.

"You spoiled man-child." Hux moans against his lips, too weak to bite down on them in retaliation.

"Mhm..."

"Brat!"

Kylo doesn't pay him any mind, instead moving in and out of Hux with single-minded determination. No more insults make it past Hux’s mouth. All his wit, all the sharpness of his tongue, they're crushed into nothingness under Kylo's onslaught.

"Armitage," Kylo whispers into his ear, almost sweet if it weren’t for the cruel edge of amusement, "come for me."

Hux reaches his peak with a cry, furious that his body gives in so easily to Kylo's demands. He makes a mess of both of them, his spend dripping all over his own belly and down Kylo's chest. He barely feels it when Kylo's hips stutter to a halt and his come fills him up to the brim.

After, they lie in comfortable silence, Hux too exhausted to chide Kylo for his previous antics, and Kylo is no doubt too busy basking in smug complacency at having so thoroughly ruined Hux.

"You're heavy." Hux says at last, when the sweat and semen have dried on their skin and Kylo's shallow breathing threatens to even out. He rolls off of Hux without complaint but keeps his arm curled around Hux's waist and his nose pressed into the dip of his shoulder.

"You smell good." Kylo mumbles.

Hux snorts and shifts a little on the bed, all too aware of the stench of sex permeating the air and Kylo’s come leaking out of his ass.

"I smell like you."

Behind him, Kylo's lips curl into a smile, the shape of it pressed into Hux's skin.

"Exactly."

Hux clicks his tongue in disapproval, but doesn't argue any further.

"We'll be expected in the hangbar bay soon." He reminds Kylo instead, without making any move to disentangle himself from him and get out of bed. "You wouldn't want to be late to Agrippina's execution, would you?"

"I'm the Supreme Leader of the First Order. I come and go as I please."

"Careful, Kylo," Hux warns him, "you should take your responsibilities more seriously. There are more than enough people eager to relieve you of the burden of leadership."

"Like you."

It's not a question, and there is no malice in Kylo's voice, no bitterness either, but Hux turns to face him nonetheless.

"Don't worry," he assures Kylo, his fingers tracing the prominent scar bisecting his handsome face, "you'll always have a place in the First Order. As my loyal bloodhound."

Kylo heaves a dry laugh.

"Your bloodhound who tears your enemies apart and who, in the sanctuary of our bedroom, makes you scream his name?"

"Or have him scream mine." Hux says, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I'm sure you'd enjoy that," Kylo murmurs, leaning into Hux’s gentle touch, "Armitage."

A lovely sound indeed.

 

FIN


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